Albus Potter and the Order of the Scylla
by silvanuszed
Summary: Every generation produces its own great Dark Wizard. After the fall of Grindelwald and Voldermort all eyes are now on the new students at Hogwarts, looking for a sign of a Dark Lord rising. Part 2 complete.
1. Chapter 1

Albus Potter and the Order of the Scylla

by S. Zed

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters and places found in the H.P. series are the brilliant brain child of J.K.R.

CHAPTER ONE

New Friends and Nerbdankles

I have decided to record the monumental account of my first year at Hogwarts for many reasons, not least of which is that it makes for great reading fodder, but primarily in order to dispel certain pernicious and wantonly undeserved rumors. Let me set it out at the start: I am not a coward and my degree of self sacrifice knows no bounds. I do, however, like to consider myself exceedingly prudent and logical. What, I ask of you, is the advantage of being beaten to a ruddy pulp _together _with one's silly (and quite head-strong) friend when a hasty retreat will leave you in a better position to help him later? I trust that makes sense to all and to any fool who thinks different I respectfully recommend that he or she put down this document and go insult a hippogriff.

My name, as I am sure you are all aware, is Silvanus Zed, order of Merlin First Class, frequent contributor to the Daily Prophet and boyhood friend of Albus Potter.

I do remember quite clearly the first time I laid eyes on the young man. I had already settled comfortably into a plush seat on the crimson Hogwarts express opposite another first year who, for some odd reason, had a white string protruding out of each ear that joined and connected to a small box. I cannot be sure of the enchantment this device held but it seemed to render her quite oblivious to her surroundings and I was happy to leave it at that.

It was then that our compartment door slid open and a boy with dark disheveled hair quickly took us in with his bright green eyes. Without waiting another moment, (obviously concluding we weren't worth _too much_ thought) he rushed to the window just as the train gave its first lurch in order to wave his last farewell to his happy yet wet-eyed parents. (I must note at this point, that Albus commonly displayed behaviors of open and retched sentimentality that I was wholly unable to cure him of. On the subject, he would often comment that he hoped he would rub off on me in order to turn me into a "real boy". Whatever that meant.)

He laughed and cried as his parents slowly diminished and then completely disappeared as the train turned a curve at which time he lightly lowered his hand. He slowly turned to face the compartment and this time fully take in his new and uncharted environment (whereupon followed quite an awkward silence). He seemed to radiate with both nervousness and excitement; Apprehension at the idea of being out for the very first time without his parents but still eager to prove his own strength and independence. (You doubt my summation? I will have you know I attained a N.E.W.T. in wizard psychology, which is pretty impressive considering the crackpots I had teaching me.)

He was spared further discomfort as the door slid open and his face relaxed as it only can when encountering someone familiar. "Albie!" the flame-haired girl squealed, her features beaming with pleasure. "Can you believe it? We're on our way! We are actually on our way! Look, look at my hands! They're shaking. This is really incredible. This is _wicked_ incredible. We'll finally be allowed to perform _REAL_ magic and not just those ridiculous card tricks that granddad lets us play with, I mean honestly, what does he think we are, five? But no, we'll be studying the real stuff. Of course, mum has had me read most of my school book already but it really is not the same and, oh, I can't wait to show up Victoire. She always has been a tad smug for my taste and- Oh this is _wicked _incredible! Don't you think so to? Don't you? I've been looking all up and down the train for you, by the way. Where have you been?"

(I decided right then and there that I did not like her. I also wished that I too had a box with strings for my ears and my growing migraine.)

Albus shrugged sheepishly. "To be honest, Rose," he said, "I was sort of avoiding James."

The girl named Rose nodded knowingly, "Yea, he can be kind of a prat. I mean, you should have heard the pile of rubbish he was trying to unload on me about thestrals. Something about sneaking up on you in the bathroom midstream and whispering in your ear-"

"Yes, I'd heard that one before." Albus laughed. "But dad told me they're kinda' gentle and dead-useful."

"Your dad would know about that type of stuff, I suppose."

"I'm surprised your mum hasn't made you read up on all these magical creatures yet."

"Well, she did tell me to," Rose said, a hint of guilt in her voice. "But that damn book bit me eight times, I finally gave it up as a bad job."

"It what?"

"No, seriously. I'm not joking. I still have the scars on my fingers to-" Her voice trailed off as a boy with slicked back blond hair strutted past our compartment. He paused for a moment, catching the eyes of Albus and Rose, sent them a soft smirk and continued down the car. The two friends seemed deeply relieved that he had opted not to dawdle. "Can you imagine," Rose began, "if Scorpius Malfoy ended up in our house?"

"Never happen," Albus asserted, flatly. "In some cases it's pretty obvious which house a student will end up in." He held his arm up to the window in order to cast the shadow of a serpent on the opposite wall.

"Cute," Rose giggled. "He'd deserve it, that's for sure."

(At this point, you are all probably wondering if I had nothing better to do than eaves drop on the private conversations of my fellow travel mates. The answer is quite simple: No. So I had buried my nose in some magazine that was too boring to recall and listened intently. So sue me.)

"I heard your dad telling you he'd disown you if you didn't make Gryffindor," said Albus. "Harsh,"

"Not really," Rose replied, lightly. "I'd probably disown myself if that happened. Snap my own wand and live out the rest of my days as a muggle." She considered for a minute. "I'd probably do worse if I was sorted into Slytherin."

They both snorted derisively, this obviously being the apex of a bad joke. "I know," said Albus. "I heard the lot of them couldn't tell if a dung bomb was hidden in their shampoo."

"That all you heard? I heard their common room was often mistaken for a run-down lavatory."

"That all you heard? I heard-"

"I think we've all heard enough."

All heads turned to the compartment door where a tall seventh year girl stood, dark eyes framed by glistening cascades of black locks. More interesting than her features, though, was the great "P" pinned ostentatiously on her cloak. "Now, really," she said, a delicate whisper emanating from rigid lips. "Is this the way Hogwarts students display their school spirit?"

Rose looked taken aback and turned red but Albus met her gaze evenly. "This is a private conversation," he said. "And we didn't ask for your opinion on our opinions."

The girl's face gave a slight twitch but she merely smiled coldly and tutted. "That's quite a mouth you have there, Potter isn't it? Yes, you do look a bit like your brother. I'd watch myself if I were you. Term hasn't started yet but in future your house will suffer for an attitude like that. I'd suggest you remedy it before we pull into the school."

The girl left and Albus and Rose sat in silence for a while, Albus breathing slightly harder than usual and Rose slowly letting the blood leave her cheeks. "Albus, you shouldn't have-"

"But I was right. She's probably just sore because she's in Slytherin."

"All the same, she's a prefect. Albus, you shouldn't have-"

But what Albus "shouldn't have" was forever lost to the sands of time as the door slid open and a third year boy stuck his impish face into the compartment. "Very nice, Albie," he crooned. "Not even at school yet and already making a move on Ursula Qualm."

"I did not 'make a move' on her, James!" Albus said, indignation sharp in his voice. (Rose stifled a laugh and some of the redness returned.) "I didn't even know her name was-"

"Yea, that's absolutely fascinating, little brother. Not bad taste on your part, even if she is a little pure-blood. Listen, the food trolley is coming around. Any chance I can mooch a couple'a' knutts?"

The cousins gave theatric shrugs. "All I have on me is a galleon," Albus said, pulling it out and flipping it in the air. "And I'm spending it on me."

"All my spending money is packed in my trunk." said Rose, meekly.

Albus' head spun around sharply. "What?" he demanded. "Didn't your mum and dad know they'd be selling sweets on the train?"

"They sent me with a care package of fruits and vegetables." she said, holding up a little brown paper bag. "Granddad Granger is apposed to sweets of all kind, for some reason. Magical or muggle."

James shook his head in an attitude of disgust. "You two are absolutely worthless." he said. "How about you?"

"W-what?"

"Yea, you. The kid with his long pointy nose buried in the _Witch Weekly_ magazine. How about donating to the cause?"

"Um, yea, sure, I guess." I said, handing some copper coins to the older boy.

"Good man. See you squirts around." And the door slammed shut as he trundled on after the food trolley.

(I hope this little anecdote will give the reader some insight into the character of the young boy just described. Although my nose was rudely and inaccurately described, I remained magnanimous and affable and probably would have remained so even if I were not completely intimidated by the third year.)

"You want to be careful, lending James money." Albus said, addressing me for the first time. "He'll try to make it a habit for you."

"He seems all right." I said shyly.

"Yea, we think he's a prat to." said Rose. "I'm Rose, by the way. Rose Weasley. This is Albus Potter."

"Silvanus Zed."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"No, that's my name. Sivanus Zed."

"Ah," said Rose, recovering quickly. "That's a...nice name."

"I think so." I replied, dryly. "It actually is quite an interesting story. You see, I was named after my great-"

"OH, BLOODY NURBDANKLES! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

We all turned in surprise to the girl (with the box and strings) in the corner of the compartment, having completely forgotten she was there. "Er," I said, nervously. "I beg your pardon?"

"Not you, stupid." she spat, irritably. "It's this dumb, broken down ipod!" She held the little box and glared at it malevolently, her dirty-blond hair almost crackling with fury and disappointment.

"Eye pod?" The three of us exchanged bewildered looks.

"Yes, ipod. It was working fine the whole trip and then all of a sudden it up and breaks and now all I'm getting is a whole lot of static! And I just bought it, too. Lousy cheap manufacturing."

I personally didn't glean much from her outburst, but Albus seemed to have an inkling as to what she was talking about. "Er, this...eye pod," he began. "It's some sort of muggle device?"

"What?" she said, distractedly. "Oh, yea. Of course."

"Ah," said Rose, the confusion disappearing from her eyes. "Then it probably runs on _lecticity_."

"What?"

"Lecticity," Rose explained, kindly. "It's something that muggles use in place of magi-"

"I know all that!" the girl snapped, impatiently. "I'm muggle-born."

"Oh," said Rose, a bit deflated. "But the point is that the device is not broken. All muggle devices stop working at Hogwarts. We must be getting near the Hogwarts grounds."

Albus looked at his cousin, unmistakably impressed. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Oh," she gave a light shrug. "It's in this book, _Hogwarts a History_. Mum's a little daft about the family reading it."

In the mean time, the dirty-blond girl's face had relaxed and with it, the general atmosphere of the compartment. "Sorry about that." she said, stuffing the box into her pocket. "I don't usually overreact that way but I take my stuff very seriously. My name is Agnes Murehead, by the by.

"Rose Weasley,"

"Albus Potter,"

"Sivanus Zed,"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"No, no, you see, that's his name."

"Yes, it actually is quite an interesting story. You see, I was named after my great-"

"You should have seen the spectacle in my parents kitchen when that first letter was delivered," said Agnes, interrupting me mid flow. (Quite rude, really, but there you are.) "Feathers everywhere! My dad is something of a hunter, you see, and when an owl just flies brazenly through our open window, well, he was really asking for it, according to dad. 'Wanted to stay for dinner' were his exact words. Anyways, after we swept up all the shattered china and wood chips this lady pops up right in the middle of the debacle and calms down the messenger owl, that had been hiding under the couch, incidentally, and then announces to all that I'm a witch. That's when the action started."

Albus and Rose giggled slightly. "The stuff we miss, growing up in the magic community." he said.

"It was probably Professor McGonagall," Rose offered. "But tell us what happened next."

"Yes, that's all very interesting," said I. "But getting back to my name, it was my-"

"Well, after she said I was a witch," Agnes butt in, (You see? You see? Rude!) "My dad took it completely the wrong way. You see, in the muggle world, the word 'witch' has got two connotations and he almost turned the Winchester on her. My mum began to cry because she didn't want my skin to turn green and my brother and sisters wanted to know when _their_ super powers would be announced. All in all, it was much better than what was on the 'Late Night Show'."

"The what?"

"Oh, that's a-"

"Oy, you midgets!" a stocky sixth year boy had slid the door open a slit. "You want to be getting into your school robes about now. We're almost there."


	2. Chapter 2 No More Than Four

Chapter Two

'Monvterfelios Mellgtoonionz' Three Times, Fast

I shall forever remember the very first time I ever saw Hogwarts. For years it had been exhaustively described to me but none of those descriptions did its magnificence the least bit of justice. Standing there in the full moonlight, looking on at its vast walls and towering turrets I could not help thinking that such a place was...there is no other word for it...magical. (Yes, yes, please hold all your incisive comments. I was quite aware of what they taught at that school.) The first thing I heard, however, was slightly less esoteric as it threatened to completely demolish the Good King's English. "Firs' years, over here! Firs' years, over this way!"

"C'mon," Albus beckoned to Agnes and me. He and Rose seemed unduly comfortable with that bellowing voice and, as it turned out, for good reason. "Hullo, Hagrid. Fancy seeing you here."

It was either a small mountain or a large hill wearing moleskin coat that suddenly jumped in surprise at the familiar voice. "Albus! Rose! Good ter see yeh!" A large bushy beard did a poor job hiding the kind features of the giant as he stared down at them warmly.

"How are you, Hagrid?" Rose asked.

"Can' talk now, Rosey. Got m'job ter do. Best you two find yerselves a good sturdy boat. FIRS' YEARS, OVER HERE!"

We followed him down to the edge of a lake where a bunch of little boats placidly floated, awaiting us. Some of the kids eyed the boats nervously while others immediately began seating themselves in the wooden vessels. "NOT MORE'N FOUR TO A BOAT!" Hagrid bellowed as a group of animated chatting girls tried to squeeze into one. (I could just tell that a year of mental challenges awaited me. Mentally challenged, that is.)

I quickly took a seat together with Albus, Rose and Agnes feeling the boat rock under my feet..

"Alrigh'? Everyone settled? Let's go-"

"AAAGGGGHHHH!"

A scream rang out, followed by a large splash and Hagrid turned sharply to the disturbance, his brow knotted worriedly. "What in the ruddy 'ell are you lot doin'?" he demanded.

Two boys and two girls splashed indignantly waist-deep in the lake next to their capsized boat, apparently to bewildered for speech. "Tha-that- that kid over there," one of the girls finally sputtered. "That kid overturned our boat." She had brandished a shaking finger and was pointing it at a boy with slicked back blond hair.

The boy stared at them coolly and supremely unconcerned. "Really, if you can't manage to stay in a boat on your own don't go about making matters worse with false accu-"

"Wha's yore name, boy?" Hagrid thundered.

The boy quailed under the fierce interrogative stare. "It's, er, Scropius Malfoy."

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes narrowed malevolently. "Malfoy, eh? Well first off, Mr. Malfoy, I'll be a 'sir' ter you. And second: I aint sayin' yeh did or din' do it, but if yer involved in one more incident, so help me, I will personally feed yeh to the giant squid. And you lot, yer just a little wet, yeh can still sale fine. Just turn it right over...that's the ticket."

It could have been my imagination but Albus and Rose seemed to be in pretty high spirits for the rest of the boat ride.

* * *

><p>As we neared the castle it seemed as though everyone had lost their inclination to speak and preferred instead to be lost in their own thoughts (such as they can be considered 'thoughts'). For my part, I appreciated the awed silence that had spread over our young group and basked in the growing excitement and tension that was building in my chest. My boat mates seemed to be experiencing something akin to my own feelings. Albus sat rigidly as stone, yet his green eyes sparkled and danced like wild emerald flames. Rose had once again allowed her cheeks to flush crimson and Agnes seemed to be only barely restraining her nervous energy that was expressed in the form of an incessant fidgeting. (As for me, I was the paragon of composure, as I'm sure you would have assumed.)<p>

At length, our boats came to rest on the far side of the glassy lake. We got out and followed the giant Hagrid up the flight of stone steps that brought us to face a great wooden door whereupon Hagrid raised his tremendous fist and solemnly (and somewhat melodramatically) knocked three times.

Of its own accord, the door swung open and we found ourselves in what must have been the largest entrance hall I had ever seen. (I always said: If you're going to learn magic, you may as well do it in style. Seriously, words to live by.) But even with all the splendor of the place in which we now found ourselves our eyes were drawn like magnets to the ancient woman standing stiff-backed and tall before us, lips pursed and stern eyes narrowed behind five inch thick spectacles. She took us all in with a glance and then her gaze fell upon the four soaking boys and girls who were dripping a large puddle in the hall.

"I see that some of you had opted to break with tradition and swim across the lake." she said in a high controlled voice. "Mind out, however, that the lot of you don't go about breaking _too_ many traditions here at Hogwarts as, I can assure you, you may find yourselves back on the scarlet train faster than you can say '_monvterferlios mellgtoonionz_'. (A lot of gulping followed this (as very few could even pronounce that phrase let alone say it fast) .) Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here." She nodded in the direction of the giant (who had been nervously shuffling his feet).

"Not a problem, headmistress, mum." he murmured, and backed away out of the room.

"Now, as for all of you," She redirected her attention to our milling group. "I am Professor McGonagall and I am here to inform you that it is a privilege to attend this school and you will all purport yourselves in such a manner. Shenanigans of any type will not be tolerated. And- oh yes, I nearly forgot." she sniffed, "Welcome to Hogwarts." (We all felt very welcome.) "Beyond that door," she indicated a passageway roughly thirty feet high, "you will find dinner in the form of our commencement-of-term banquet. But before you begin the strenuous exercise of distending your stomachs and stocking up your supply of burpage (Burpage: ber'payj: noun: The sum total units of burping arsenal. It _is_ a real word. Not even at Hogwarts five minutes and already learning loads.) you will first be sorted into your school houses. There are four Hogwarts houses, each one established by one of the four school founders and each with its own unique qualities and rich history. They are: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin." (Was it my imagination or did her lip curl slightly as she formed the word 'Slytherin'? Hmmm...yes, imagination. Definitely imagination,) "Throughout your stay at this school you will come to rely upon your house as much as it will rely on you. You will have the choice to represent your house as either an asset or a liability as represented by your behavior and abilities. Victories and achievements will earn your house points while the opposite will probably earn you a few detentions, a subtraction of points and an ambush in a dark corridor by your fellow house mates.

"In a few moments you will be called into the great hall to be sorted. In the meantime you will wait here and behave like the gentlemen and ladies I know you are...deep down. Understood?" All heads nodded. "Good. Now, will an Albus Potter please make himself known?"

Everybody immediately began looking around, partially from astonishment and partially in order to see the boy was who bore that famous last name. (I mean 'Potter', not 'Zed'. But I understand the confusion.) I myself, turned directly to the dark haired boy standing next to me and saw his brow crease with worry and Rose reach out to clasp his hand. "Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall demanded and Albus slowly extricated his hand from Rose's tight grip and raised it, slightly shaking, into the air.

"Er, Professor?"

"Eh? Oh, there you are, boy." Her eyes bore into him from over her spectacles. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten your own name. You will accompany me to my office. There is someone there who wishes to speak with you at once."

"At once? But the sorting-"

"Did I say we were to discuss the matter, Mr. Potter?" she shot back. "At once! Immediately! Move it along, now. Chop, chop. And the rest of you remember: Learning never ends but it is never to soon to halt a promising education."

And with that, Headmistress in lead and young Albus in tow, the two made their way from the entrance hall in the direction of the Headmistress' office, leaving the rest of us to be engulfed in a frenzy of whispered speculation.


	3. Chapter 3 Ballad of the Brim

Chapter three

The Ballad of the Brim

I am forced at this juncture to make, yet, another disclaimer. I am not, nor have I ever been, a gossip. Personally, I consider it to be among the most base and deplorable traits found in what passes for 'human nature' in our sad, sad world and would just as soon see a gossip dragged unceremoniously into the town square and shot.

That said, I must of necessity enlighten those fortunate enough not to bear the burden of extreme intelligence. Because of said intelligence, we are constantly sought out for our razor sharp insight on a myriad of issues that, under normal circumstances, would not be considered any of our business (or 'bees-wax', to use the youthful vernacular). As a result, throughout my years at school I was remarkably well informed on all happenings within Hogwarts, be they faculty or student related.

In this case...that was not the case.

I certainly had no idea why Albus had been singled out and, apparently, neither did Rose who looked extremely worried. Already, her eyes showed her that her mind was working furiously at conjuring up the most extreme theories and assumptions as they slowly began to brim with tears.

Everyone else seemed to be equally curious (though less teary). "Did she say 'Potter'?"

"What do you suppose-?"

"Maybe the Minister wants to-"

"_The_ Potter?"

"Think he'll be in our year?"

"...he not being sorted-?"

"Hope not. Hear his brother's a-"

"_The_ Potter?"

With all the clucking that ensued, I immediately deduced that Rose would need some comfort and reassurance from a sympathetic friend, even if they had just met earlier that afternoon. For that reason, she turned directly to Agnes. "W-what do you...? Why did-?" she stammered.

"There, there, now," Agnes said in a soft and gentle voice, pulling Rose closer to her. (Rose had (thankfully) made a good choice.) "You heard Professor McGonagall. Someone just wants to talk to him, is all. I mean, think of who his father is. It's probably some duffer of a fan who wants to offer him a full scholarship or something."

Agnes was obviously very suited to the position she now found herself in and probably would have succeeded in cheering up Rose had not a sneering sharp voice cut through the babble. (Yes, of course it was 'babble'. I was not contributing.) "Well _I _think it's pretty apparent what's happening." All eyes turned to the glowing, pale face of Scorpius Malfoy who seemed to be reveling in the attention he was now receiving. "This has got to be a record! Not even sorted yet and already old Potty is being flushed back down the Scarlet Express."

A rather tall, burly mouse haired boy giggled. "Oh, I get it. Very good." He snorted. "'Potty'...'flushed'...Ha ha, very good." (I don't get it.)

"I mean, I know his dad didn't have what is takes to finish his seventh year but at least he was able to stick that rotten excuse for a head in that moldy old hat-"

"Shut it, twerp."

For a split second Scorpius' eyes widened as he beheld the stocky form of Agnes Murehead bearing down on him but the next moment his surprise was wiped clean and replaced with a sardonic smile. "And who, exactly, is going to make me?" he asked. "You? What are you going to do, muggle-born? Hex me? Curse me? Come off it, I doubt it if you can even tell if your wand is right side up." He then mimicked holding a wand and blasting himself in the face (complete with sound effects) to the amusement of a few present, including, I saw, the mouse haired boy.

Agnes was completely unabashed. She simply set her jaw and stepped deep into the personal space of her mocker until their noses were mere inches apart. "Who said anything about wands?" she asked softly, raising two clenched fists.

For the second time that night, Scorpius Malfoy had the blood drained from his face as he clearly had no inclination to entangle himself in any physical altercation, especially where there was a decent chance of him coming off worse. (His prowess was obviously less in the realm of muggle brawling than it was in the area of snide comments and potty humor. (Yes, yes, I just got it.))

All around us everyone had gone silent, holding their collective breath as the two squared off in the center of the Entrance Hall (I was...somewhere in the back...assessing the situation. Yes, that's it. Assessing the situation.) For what seemed ages they locked glares and shot mental daggers at each other. "Knock him a good one, blonde!" one of the soaking girls called out. "A real good one! Right in his pale-"

"I would recommend against that course of action." Professor McGonagall had returned, in my, opinion just in time. "I suppose it was too much to hope for." she sighed. "Be that as it may, term has not officially started and no points shall be deducted. You two separate immediately. The rest of you, form a line! Single file! No, no, _single_ file! _SINGLE_- oh for goodness sake! You, over here! Young lady, please face this way. There we are. Everybody follow me."

I fell in line behind Agnes who seemed to be encouraging Rose to attract Professor McGonagall's attention. "Yes, young lady? You also have a question on the concept of 'single file'?"

"Please, Professor," Rose said. "My cousin Albus, where-"

"I assure you, Weasley isn't it, your cousin is in the peak of health. Now then, we really are keeping the entire school waiting. Walk this way." (That was quite a difficult task; she walked kind of funny.)

We trooped out in her wake and entered the most wondrous dinning hall I had ever been in whereupon I was graced with a scathing glare from Agnes. "You really are quite the brave one, aren't you."

"I don't understand."

"Back there! Where were you?"

"I was...assessing the situation. What's your point?"

"You...you...arrgh!" (Right, it must not have been that important a point.)

Our group made quite a spectacle as we were led across the hall, followed by the steady gaze of hundreds of students, all the way up to the head table where we were made to stand in full view of the entire school. It was then that I saw Rose catch the eye of a boy by one of the end tables. It was James Potter who's slightly curious and nervous expression was silently communicating furiously with Rose, "_Where is Albus_?".

"_He is fine."_

"_What is going on?"_

"_I don't know."_

This was all expressed in the form of open-palm gestures and shrugs, and probably would have gone on to be quite a chat had not the Headmistress chosen that moment to end the mute conversation.

"If I may have your attention, please..." She twirled her wand and produced an elegant stool out of thin air. On this stool she placed the most ragged and beaten up old hat that gave off the strongest smell of mothballs ever I smelled. But then it twitched and became the most eloquent headwear ever I heard. It opened its mouth and sang thus:

_As I sat upon my shelf_

_I often thought _

_And asked myself_

_If it was right _

_For you to be_

_A captive audience _

_To a song, off-key._

_Compared to most_

_My ballad pales,_

_Regarded by some_

_As chalkboard and nails._

_By others, still_

_A screeching cat._

_So sue me then,_

_I'm just a hat._

_But a task I have,_

_And so I say_

_Your ears may ring_

_But I'll have my way._

_This job pays little_

_And there's action less._

_I'd have had more fun_

_Had I been born a dress._

_So on your head _

_You will place me_

_to see where you are at_

_By sifting through_

_Your soggy brains_

_Leaving (most of) it intact._

_Will you wind up in Ravenclaw_

_Whose beak is straight and clean?_

_Or perhaps end up in Hufflepuff_

_Who're much more than they seem?_

_Gryffindor, perchance: _

_Strong, brave and lean,_

_Or maybe silky Slytherin:_

_Cunning, sharp and very mean._

_I sure don't know_

_And care much less._

_Your end result_

_Is anyone's guess._

_And now we sort_

_But one thing to be said_

_before you put me on_

_Shake the dandruff off your head._

_And if you can_

_It would be so nice_

_Apply shampoo,_

_Perhaps 'Old Spice'._

_And there, we're through_

_And I'm quite winded._

_I'm out of rymes_

_So lets get moving._


	4. Chapter 4 A Sort of Sorting

Chapter four

A Sort of Sorting

The greatest a possession a man can possess is a good name, and in this regard, I must admit, I am thoroughly blessed. The great and noble name of 'Zed' has traversed the annals of time again and again and has withstood the test of decay while permanently carving those three wondrous letters forever into the blocks of history. The exploits of my ancestors are sung about and their accomplishments barely believed. It seemed as though their pinnacle had been reached.

And then there was...me.

Silvanus Zed: The culmination and apex of one of the greatest wizarding families since time immemorial, (with Dumbledore and Potter probably coming in a close second). Yes, I'm quite sure the name 'Silvanus' shall always be associated with the name 'Zed', raising our family stature from merely great to (dare I say it?) legen(wait for it)dary.

(Actually, the way I received the name 'Silvanus' makes quite an interesting story. You see, I was named after my great- Ah...yes, perhaps this is not the time.)

However, one of the (few) downsides to bearing the name 'Zed', aside from the constant staring, relentless paparazzi and never-ending autograph requests, is that in any alphabetical list or role call, one can always be assured of coming up dead last.

This situation was no different.

As the hat concluded its (slightly insulting) poem a round-faced wizard with numerous scars on his face came and collected it and then unfurled a roll of parchment that extended far beyond his ankles. (It was either written in triplicate or in font size eighty-six because there simply weren't that many new students.) "Anderson, Cynthia!" he called out. "Please step forward and put on the hat."

A small, shaking girl with long dark hair answered to the name and slowly lowered the hat over her head. Being the polite head-wear it is, the hat must have invited her to have a seat because she then scrambled on to the stool and squeezed the cushion until her nails turned white, waiting and waiting-

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat announced and the table second from the left nearly gave me a heart attack as they exploded in cheers and applause. (That's "cheers". That is to say, they exploded in cheers, not chairs. They were standing when this happened. Hope we cleared that up.) Smiling broadly, Cynthia Anderson removed the hat and ran to her new house.

"BARRINSKY, BORIS!"

A rather sturdy lad with overly wide shoulders (and in desperate need of a shave) stepped forward.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted and this time the table on the right welcomed a new member.

(Seeing as my name will not be announced for a bit, I've taken the liberty of condensing and abridging the next few unimportant names. You're welcome.")

"BOOT, ANGELINE!" - "RAVENCLAW!"

"CARTY, CUTHBERT!" - "GRYFFINDOR!"

"DEVON, DAMON!" - "SLYTHERIN!

"DOE, JOHN!" - "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"DOE, JANE!" - "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"EDINSON, EVELYN!" - "GRYFFINDOR!"

"FLANNEL, FLAVIOUS! - "SLYTHERIN!"

"GRETSIN, GAYLE!" - "RAVENCLAW!"

"MALFOY, SCORPIUS!" - "SLYTHERIN"

"MUREHEAD, AGNES!" - "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"NELSON, KENT!" - "GRYFFINDOR!"

"OZZ, DOROTHY!" - "GRYFFINDOR!"

"RATSIN, RICARDO!" - "SLYTHERIN!"

"STARKER, PETER!" - "RAVENCLAW!"

"SMYTH, ALLISON!" - "SYTHERIN!"

"WEASLEY, ROSE!" - "GRYFFINDOR!"

"WHYN, EDWARD!" - "HUFFLEPUFF!"

And then it seemed as though a wave passed through the great hall. The air became still and time expanded and slowed as a climax was reached. The professor parted his lips and uttered that immortal name: "Zed, Silvanus!"

With a straight back and calm demeanor, I answered the summons. The legendary hat was before me and in a moment it had fallen over my eyes and all was obscured save me and my destiny.

_Hmmm...What have we here?_ A soft voice was whispering thoughtfully in my ears. _Yes...yessss, you think a lot of yourself, don't you? Well, there is definitely something here. Cunning. A great deal of cunning, though you give your brains a bit too much credit. Ah, and what is this? Your name is-...My, that's an odd name. Seems here you were named after your great...Oh dear me, that is very interesting. _

_But back to business. Ooh, I do detect some narcissism but a lot of loyalty on the other hand. You are quite paradoxical, you are. And what's this? Looks like cowardice, but it might be prudence. I can't really say, but I suppose after the...interesting challenges of this year we shall find out, shan't we?_

What do you mean?

_Never you mind. Now, where to put you? Where to put you? I daresay, your ego won't survive a placement in Hufflepuff but I think Ravenclaw may be reaching a bit. Then again, Gryffindors tend not to value prudence too much, which places you in _

SLYTHERIN!

The cheers that greeted my ears upon removing the hat where thunderous. (By far, greater than anyone previously (though Rose later tried to convince me that everyone was actually applauding the end of the sorting and the commencement of dinner. *Sigh* It is very sad how small a jealous person can act.))

I replaced the hat on the stool while the round-faced professor rolled up the parchment list. He seemed a nice enough fellow, if a bit accident prone (he dropped the list four times) but it seemed to me he almost glared at me when I was sorted into Slytherin. Then again, my fatigue may have been playing tricks on my eyes. Yes, that's it. Let's go with that.

I made my way to the Slytherin table and found a seat between pointy-faced Allison Smyth and a burly third-year whose name I didn't know.

I looked over at the Gryffindor table and saw Rose and James in earnest conversation, their brows furrowed and expressions serious. And with a slight pang of worry I remembered that Albus was still nowhere in sight. Over at the Hufflepuff table I saw Agnes was already engaged in friendly conversation with Jane Doe, with no apparent apprehension in her demeanor. This struck me as odd at first, as I would have pegged her as the type to be more concerned for others.

But then I saw her shoot several furtive glances over her shoulder at the sorting hat and I realized what she already had concluded: The Hat was still out. It had not been put away. There was still one more sorting left. But where was Albus?

The congratulations and excited conversations suddenly ceased and I looked around for the source of the abrupt cessation. And there it was. Professor McGonagall Had risen from her seat, ready to address the assembly.

"In years past," she began. "It was the custom of our late headmaster to say a few words before dinner in order to inform the students that he would not be saying a few words before dinner. I, personally, do not hold of this practice and will, therefore, not be saying a few words before dinner. Therefore, you may all tuck in."

In the midst of mulling over these confusing 'few words' I was startled by the sudden apparition of the largest assortment of food. The older students seemed to take this sudden appearance in stride and immediately began ladling copious portions onto their plates.

"Excellent!" I heard Damon Devon exclaim. "Fried cabbage over baked Gooeyduck! My favorite!" I made a mental note to choose a bed as far away from his as possible. (Incidentally, he went through the rest of his years at Hogwarts with the nickname, "Windy".)

"Ewww!" The pointy nose of Allison Smyth curled over the green fumes of a rather odious looking dish. "What on earth is this rubbish supposed to be? It smells something awful!"

"It is an elfin delicacy called 'Birpsalot'." a cold condescending voice answered Allison's rhetorical question. "And if you don't fancy it, put it down and don't eat."

I turned to see it was the voice of the prefect Ursula Qualm whose icy blue eyes were currently boring into a sheepish looking Allison. (Her mood had obviously not improved since her encounter with Albus and Rose.) She held her gaze on Allison a few moments before turning back to converse with her fellow seventh-year.

"Well, what are they at serving elf food anyway?" I heard Allison mutter, (though it was low enough not to be picked up by Ursula).

At that point I decided that conversation makes for a poor dinner and decided to throw myself at the food with a gusto.

It really was marvelous.

In that one sitting I consumed a plate of veal with mashed potatoes, two legs of turkey, Boston cream pie, sweet potato pie, Shepard's pie, eel pie (tastes like spaghetti), poached horn toads (those can get stuck in your teeth), stuffed cabbage, pea soup, poached snail eggs (tastes like chicken), some more soup, a few frankfurter, some baked chicken (tasted like snail eggs), and-

Oh dear. I am making myself rather hungry. And, goodness! It's already dark out. I think I will lay my pen down to till tomorrow. In the meantime, I believe a midnight snack is in order. Yes, quite right. I wonder if the missus has left over any of that scrumptious pudding...


	5. Chapter 5 Out With The Old

For all those who are still reading, I gotta apologize for the long break. Rosh Hashana and the High Holidays and all. Knew you'd understand.

* * *

><p><span>CHAPTER FIVE<span>

OUT WITH THE OLD

In my long range of experiences I have found that the best way to approach any problem that this dark, sinister world can throw at us, is with a full stomach. (Ha, you thought I was going to say "a good attitude" or a "brave smile" or some such malarkey. Well just try going a few days on breadcrumbs and see what sort of attitude or smile you can muster. That's a tip there. Write it down.) I am quite certain that I can attest, without fear of hyperbole, that my first year in Hogwarts was the most difficult, trying and challenging year in the entire history of that great academy. With the possible exception of my second year.

And perhaps my third, as well. (Now I think of it, my fourth and fifth weren't exactly rose gardens either. (And she dumped me in the sixth year. Foolish girl.))

And, as it happened, the start of this monumentally challenging time was at the end of dinner. With a full stomach.

After I had sated myself a bit, I took the opportunity to notice some of my new house mates. Right next to me was Allison Smyth (who appeared to be stuffing her cheeks with an elfin delicacy called "birpsalot" (and she was).) A little further down the table Scorpius Malfoy was gregariously calling attention to himself with his newfound best leech, the mouse haired Ricardo Ratsin, who was hanging on to every one of Malfoy's forgettable words with dull half closed eyes.

"Can you imagine how many sods this school is excepting this year?" The question came from a slightly chubby Damon Devon seated across from me.

"What do you mean?" Allison asked.

"Well, just look at them." He said, sputtering most of his mouthful in my direction in his vehemence. "No' a bi' of class among them. Not a BIT!" (That last syllable was the end of my dinner.)

Allison nodded, solemnly. "What can you really expect when you look at the state of our teachers." The two of them cast their disapproving eyes on the staff table before she continued. "The Headmistress looks like she's over a hundred, this bloke, Hagrid, has barely any handle on the Good King's English and the rest seem like they only just received their N.E.W.T.s - say, is it just me or does it strike you that there are too few teachers?"

She appeared to be correct. Up at the head table I saw that rather round scarred Professor who handled the sorting talking with an attractive Asian Professor with long sleek hair. Next to them, taking shots out of a wooden barrel, was the giant Hagrid, who was only occasionally sloshing his mead on a tiny withered professor who was looking (increasingly) like he had traversed a rain storm. (Hard to tell, but he looked somewhat put out.) Off at the other end was a smartly dressed woman with a thick strand of pearls who was looking distinctly out of place as she looked around with interest but still remained uninvited to mingle with the rest of the group.

And in the center, brooding by herself, Professor McGonagall sat with white-pursed lips and her fingers clasped tightly in front of her. Every few moments she would turn expectantly to the entrance hall but would promptly return disgustedly to poke at her untasted food. (Her expression was very reminiscent of a certain four year old boy who was rudely informed by a nasty cousin that, in fact, there is no Father Christmas and who then started laughing heartily as the boy- but I digress. (Those wizard psychology courses were such a waste of time.))

Making a quick count (even counting Hagrid twice) I surmised that Allison was actually correct. (My tone of surprise was due to the fact that she could count.) There were far too few teachers to cover the offered courses. This year was certainly off to a brilliant start with students absent and now an uneven teacher-course ratio. Unless they simply could not procure the necessary staff...

My thoughts were suddenly and rudely interrupted (a crime in itself) by an eruption of hissing. I turned and saw that the outburst at my table was caused by the bold approach of one James Potter.

"Little lost, are we?"

"Come over to make new friends?"

"Hey Potty, where's your bro?"

"Kicked out already, is he?"

"-Gryfindors that boring?"

James was completely unperturbed by all the hissing and cat-calls and mildly responded with a rude hand gesture before diverting his attention. "You!" He seemed to point an accusing finger at Allison. "No, you! With the pale face and long nose. 'X' or 'Y' or whatever your name is-"

"Zed,"

"Yea, Zed. We have to talk."

At that point, all immediate dinner conversation ceased and all ears were directed at this confrontation (even if they were pretending not to) which disquieted me to no end. (I am sure you have gleaned from the self-word-portrait I have presented to you that I am a very humble individual who shuns the spotlight even as it is constantly forced upon me. Such is my curse.)

"Er-"

"You were on the train with Albus, weren't you?"

"Well-"

"And you saw him right before the sorting, correct?"

"That is-"

"So where is he now?"

"Er," I hesitated a moment. He sounded quite angry and on the verge of walloping someone for an answer. (He was never even remotely as cool-headed as his younger brother, which is saying a lot if you actually consider Albus.) "In all honesty," I selected my words cautiously. "I have no more of an idea than your cousin Rose, who was also with him..."

He glared at me accusingly for a moment and then noticed that a hush had fallen over all the students as the remaining food vanished. Professor McGonagall was rising from her seat. He gave me one last glance and rushed back towards his house table just as the Headmistress was clearing her throat to speak.

"The point of any school is to ensure that her students leave well rounded in all areas. Now that we have accomplished that in regards to your bellies it is time we discussed rounding out your pointed heads.

"Term officially starts promptly tomorrow morning although all school rules take effect tonight. Those rules include an off limits zone around the womping willow and, of course, students are forbidden from entering the forbidden forest. (Hence, the name.)

"Quidditch trials will be in two weeks time and any flighty individuals with an interest in brooms may see our caretaker to participate in volunteer sweeping and tidying. Unless, of course, you are interested in flying the contraptions, in which case you should approach our new coach and flying instructor.

"Which brings me to my next subject. Sadly, much of our staff retired at the conclusion of last term but all ends are merely the opportunity for new beginnings and so I am very happy to welcome, and welcome back in some cases, a new batch of young blood to take up the challenge of imparting knowledge. May their nerves last longer than their hair.

"Professor Longbottem, although not new to teaching, will no longer be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and will be taking over the Herbology department." The round-faced wizard raised a genial glass to the school. "Not to worry, he'll still be head of Gryffindor house.

"A new professor but an old student, we are very fortunate to have procured Professor Cho Chang for the transfiguration department. And I assure you, anyone who accidentally transfigures _THIS_ teacher into a polka dotted armadillo will face immediate suspension. Defective wand or no.

"And as for our last staff changes...Well! They appear to be running late- Ah! Here they come now!"

Professor McGonagall had lifted her head and was looking and gesturing directly at the ceiling which was enchanted to perfectly mimic the night sky. (I have neglected to mention this little tidbit because it is clearly stated in _Hogwarts a History_ and you've read _Hogwarts a History_, haven't you? Of course you have. Who hasn't?)

Everyone followed her gaze and searched the moonlit sky for perhaps a silhouette of a broom and rider or a giant flying horse-drawn carriage. (I know, sounds silly, doesn't it?)

"LOOK!" Gayle Gretsin suddenly yelled, pointing an outstretched finger. And then we saw it. Streaking right beneath the clouds was a dark slender shape between a pair of tremendous bat wings. It swooped lower and lower over the castle, moving so fast its details could not be discerned. And then it disappeared over the periphery and we heard something heavy land outside the castle doors. There was then the telltale creaking of the giant front doors and then the sound of four lumbering clawed feet crossing the entrance hall. And then it was before us.

* * *

><p>It is just human nature that (for some odd reason) ones eyes are automatically drawn to the great big dragon that just entered the room as apposed to the rather plain individual mounted upon it. For that reason, I shall describe the former first.<p>

...It was a great big dragon. That sort of sums it up. It stood on four legs approximately five feet off the ground and its skin was made of shiny scales that glistened and changed colors as its tremendous muscles flexed beneath it. Its long snout housed myriads of razor sharp teeth and its eyes sparkled liked green marbles with little black slits for pupils. It looked down upon us imperiously as it jutted out its armored chest.

The hunched man seated on the beast's back was slightly less remarkable. He was a small balding man wearing muggle clothes that at the moment looked terribly windswept. Actually he seemed to be somewhat shell shocked and his face appeared to be frozen in an expression of complete fear. (I mean, just looking at him you'd think he never rode a dragon before.)

This strange duo made their way across the dining hall amid complete and utter stunned silence all the way up to the head table. Professor Chang, a concerned expression on her face, got up to help the little balding man off his mount whereupon his legs promptly gave out beneath him. The dragon, meantime, had crouched on the floor at the edge of the table and started gulping down a monstrous barrel of wine that an excited Hagrid had lugged over for it.

"Professor T'anin Khan," Professor McGonagall began. "On behalf of all present, I welcome you to Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Head Mistress." The deep rumbling voice came from the throat of the dragon. "I am truly honored."

"This is Professor T'anin Khan." McGonagall was addressing the student body again (I don't know how, but everyone seemed to grow even quieter). "As I am sure you can imagine, his kind is very rare and we were very lucky to find him and convince him to take up residence here at Hogwarts. He shall be our new flight instructor/coach, as well as potions master. I am sure you will accord him all the respect he is due as a professor. And seeing as how there is an opening, he has also agreed to take on the responsibilities of head of Slytherin house."

The great reptile turned its cat-like gaze on our table and for one moment it seemed to be smiling. (Or not. It's very hard to read the expressions of dragons.)

Professor McGonagall paused, I suppose to wait for some sort of welcoming applause, but since nothing but stunned silence was forthcoming, she let out a small sigh and continued.

"And then we have Professor Tinfoil," McGonagall spoke of the small balding man who still seemed to be in deep shock and completely unaware of his surroundings. "Although he is unused to...our world, Professor Tinfoil is a muggle who has agreed to take up the department of Muggle Studies." This last statement finally evoked some lively reaction. The Headmistress was suddenly drowned out by furious mutterings.

"A muggle, did she say?"

"Teaching here at-"

"Did I hear right?"

"What in-"

My house seemed to be particularly put out by the news.

"This is a school for _Magic_!"

"What can she be thinking?"

"We have to call it 'professor'?"

**BANG!**

Smoking wand in hand, McGonagall suddenly had our full attention again. "That is correct." she said, slowly. "And we will all go out of our way to make him as comfortable as possible, which I now see, means no more dragon rides.

"And last but not least, there is our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Maim..." our eyes fell expectantly upon the smartly dressed witch with the pearls. "...Who unfortunately could not make it tonight. I'm afraid that those of you who have his class will have to wait until tomorrow to meat him. And you should be afraid too."

She said that last thought in an undertone, as though it was only meant for herself. I mulled this over for a bit and then wondered why she did not even choose to acknowledge the smartly dressed witch who simply sat there contentedly taking in her surroundings with mild interest.

"And now," McGonagall continued. "It is time for bed. After all, you must be fully rested in order to sleep properly in class tomorrow. However, before you go, there is one more thing to be done. YOU MAY COME IN NOW!"

And there, finally standing in the entrance to the dinning hall, was Albus.

I saw Rose's face immediately flood with relief and the clouds around James and Agnes also cleared up. But I also noticed something else.

Albus' face was white. In fact, he looked as though he was about to pass out. Without looking at anyone of his friends and family who were desperately trying to catch his eye, he walked slowly and purposefully, as though in a trance, to the head table.

With great care, he picked up the sorting hat and raised it over his head. Slowly, slowly he began to lower, all the time muttering something inaudible. And just as the battered old hat cleared his eyes its slash opened wide.

SLYTHERIN!

* * *

><p>By the way, for all those who care, '<em>T'anin<em>' is Hebrew for 'serpent'. Catchoo later.


	6. Chapter 6 Hat Talk With Forked Tongue

CHAPTER SIX

HAT SPEAK WITH FORKED TONGUE

I have just been severely reprimanded.

As she was perusing my unfinished documents, the missus took undue umbrage at what she considered to be 'a jaundiced and completely unfounded and unflattering description' of herself.

For that reason, it behooves me to point out (under threat of tin dinners for the rest of my life) that at that first commencement dinner I did, in fact, notice one particular girl who completely embodied the very concepts of beauty and grace. Sadly, my eleven year old brain was not sufficiently evolved at that time to fully appreciate such a paragon (I was still at the age when I considered all females to be "poopy") and therefore, remained lacking and wanting for her company for many years. Indeed, my loss.

Ah, she left! On with the narrative.

* * *

><p>One would not have thought that the stunned silence brought on by the unexpected arrival of a muggle-carrying-dragon could ever be rivaled by anything, but I learned that first night never to take anything for granted.<p>

The hall had frozen. The Gryffindor table stood with their hands outstretched before them, almost as if comically posing for a statue entitled, 'About to Applaud'. Their faces seemed not even to register what had transpired.

The rest of the tables were dotted with puzzled expression as though they had not heard correctly. No. They couldn't have heard correctly. It was Potter, after all. The boy who's father defeated The Dark Lord. The boy who's father led Gryffindor and all of Gryffindor's ideals into a series of complete victories.

But the father was not standing there with the hat over his head. It was the son. And they had not misheard.

Over the hall in general, a great feeling of befuddlement grew like some vaporous cloud. Even the ghost seemed to lose some of their poor imitation of life. But from my table a severe feeling was being emanated. It was a feeling of confusion, yes, but also anger. Severe anger at a crime that could not- could never -be condoned. It was fury at the audacity of someone forcing his presence on those who desire it least.

Amid the complete vacuum, Albus, still chalk white, removed the enchanted headwear with shaking hands and slowly replaced it on its stool. And then the silence was broken by the sharp clapping of one individual. The dragon, Professor T'anin Kahn, was resting on his hind legs and slowly bringing his front paws together. "Well done," he rumbled. "Well done, young Slytherin."

Professor McGonagall took it up with him and the rest of staff slowly joined in. A sort of half-hearted attempt spread throughout the students but it died rather quickly.

"Very good," McGonagall clipped. "But now it really _is_ time for bed. All prefects please direct your first years to your respective Houses and inform everyone of the current passwords. Pleasant dreams."

At that, everyone seemed to reawaken and groggily rose from their seat. "First years, this way!" Ursula Qualm was herding everyone my age into a line behind her with surprising efficiency and control, but it still was taking some time. I grabbed the opportunity of momentary chaos to rush towards Albus (who was still standing next to the sorting hat) but found that Rose had beaten me to him.

"...But what happened?" she was asking. Her voice sounded strained.

"I...I'm sorry, Rose. I can't..."

"Look, Albus! I don't care where your sorted-"

"Rose-"

"-but just tell me what-"

"I can't! Rose, I can't. He told me not to tell any-"

"Albus, I'm not 'anyone'! it's me! Rose. Your cousin. Your best friend since forever! Please...please..." She was crying now.

"Rose..."

"I need to know, Albus..."

"...Rose, I'm so sorry-"

But before he could finish she quickly turned and rushed from the hall, taking care to ensure her face remained unseen. Albus just stood there and watched her go until James passed into his line of vision on his way to Gryffindor Tower. The older boy stopped and their eyes met. James' face remained impassive as though he was looking straight through his younger brother, who's expression pleaded for some sign of recognition. But James suddenly resumed walking as though he had never paused, leaving the hall without so much as a sound or a backward glance.

Albus then seemed to crumble into himself and I could not bring up the courage to approach him. What would I say? What could I do? Would I make things worse? I couldn't take the place of his family, could I?

But then Agnes was at his side murmuring softly to him. I couldn't quite hear but I picked up phrases like "...not to worry...", "...they'll get over it..." and "...will come out right..." and Albus nodded slowly.

"Oy! Potter!" It was the icy voice of Ursula Qualm. She had finally managed to group the first years behind her. "And you, Whats-Your-Face! (That would be me.) Unless the both of you plan on spending the night in the corridor I suggest you fall in behind me now!"

We did, although Albus lingered towards the back, aloof from the rest of the group. Our Prefect then proceeded to lead us down a dark staircase in a roughly hewn tunnel that was only intermittently lit with a gnarled torch that horribly blackened the wall behind it. (I must admit, I felt very at home.) Lower and lower we descended, twisting and turning with seeming randomness at every fork so that my razor sharp mind was forced to function at full capacity in order to seal the winding rout in my memory.

The Prefect, Ursula, suddenly halted in front a particular bit of craggy stone wall. "Listen up, you lot!" She called out. "This is the password." She faced the wall and spoke to it. "_**POTESTATEM**_." No sooner had she uttered the last syllable then the wall slid aside revealing the Slytherin common room. Long and thin, with a watery green tint splashed over the walls, it was to be our home for the coming term. It was furnished with roaring fireplace on the far end and was littered assorted tables and soft chair (that looked like they were upholstered with snake skin. (We Slytherins were always stylish.)

"The dormitories are over there." Ursula pointed out two descending staircases situated off to the side. "Right one is for boys, left one for girls. You might want to hurry and grab yourself a descent bed."

Our group scrambled down their respective stairs with Albus and myself bringing up the rear when the sound of a young boys grunt met my ears. I turned and saw Albus lying on his with his robes pulled up to his chin indicating someone had grabbed him by the back of his collar. It was hard to tell who because there were at least half a dozen fifth years standing menacingly over him.

"Well lookit we have here." the tallest one crooned. He had slick black hair that was combed back over his ears in such a manner that gave them the appearance of being pointy. "It's little baby Potter. Son of the Chosen One." He lowered his voice as he silkily drew out his wand. "Well _we_ didn't choose you."

Ursula Qualm had paused on her way down to her dormitory and was calmly taking in the proceedings.

Albus glared stoically up at the fifth year and started to get back on his feet.

"Oh no, not yet, Mister Potter." The Older boy lowered his wand and a burst of green flame exploded on Albus' chest throwing him roughly back down. The assembled laughed appreciatively and I saw the gleeful face of Scorpius Malfoy poke through one of the elbow crooks.

Albus' smoking chest rose and deflated rapidly as he panted. "I'm- I'm not afraid of yo-"

"Maybe not yet." The fifth year stroked his wand, lovingly. "But you will be." And they all drew their wands and leveled them.

You really must believe me. I am an exceedingly prudent and logical individual not given to gallant, theatrical displays of pointless heroics. However, even the best of us cannot be called perfect and something suddenly came over me that to this day I am at a loss to explain. (I am of the opinion that it was a momentary lapse in my sanity while Albus later asserted it was one of my more sane moments, (go figure)).

Whatever the case, I suddenly found my hand grasping my own wand. Time slowed to a crawl as I flourished my wand dramatically in the direction of the older boys, prepared to positively devastate them with my finesse and deadly prowess-

The pointy eared boy smiled in amusement and casually flicked his wand causing my own to flee my grasp. It twirled through the air, bounced off the ceiling and (emanating sparks) shot back down to be deftly pluck from the air by...Albus.

He spun on the floor while brandishing my wand, his emerald eyes ablaze with fury. "LEAVE...ME...ALONE!"

My wand in his hand flashed violently and all those around him were blown back off their feet as though swept aside by a giant invisible hand. They tumbled over each other in confusion while Albus pulled himself to his feet.

The pointy eared boy was the first to extricate himself from the jumble of limbs. He leaped up with an expression so contorted it was frightening. (What was even more frightening was that he was looking at both Albus and _me_.) "You..." He waved his wand between the two of us. "You are both very dead-"

For the second time that night the fifth year was thrown back by an invisible force. And Ursula Qualm lowered her wand. "That is quite enough of that, Avery." Her low, controlled words settled a certain calm over the room. She gave her wand a little flick and the sprawled fifth years (including Avery) were hauled up into a standing position. "I think its time everyone went to bed." She said, flatly. Avery looked like he wanted to argue but he obeyed her without question. In procession, everybody made their way downstairs. "Potter," she called out. "A moment if you please."

Albus remained behind and I made sure dawdle just under the floor level in the stairwell order to eaves drop. I didn't plan on leaving Albus alone again tonight.

"That was quite some show you performed just now." Her voice was cold and probing. "Where did you learn that?"

"I..." Albus seemed at a loss. "I...didn't learn it. I don't know how I did what I did. I don't know _what_ I did-"

"You performed it all on instinct?" I chanced a quick glance over the stairs and saw Ursula was regarding Albus with calculating appraisal. "Quite impressive," she murmured. Albus did not respond and silence ensued. "Never the less, whatever impressions you've garnished from your parents about the rules of Hogwarts Houses, you should be aware that Slytherin does not tolerate fighting. To ensure you stay aware, I think that lines are in order. '_I shall not fight_' written five hundred times-"

"WHAT?"

"Make that seven hundred times. You will hand it to me tomorow evening. Will there be any more outbursts?" I could almost hear Albus' teeth grinding in frustration, but he held his silence. "Very well. Off you go."

A moment later Albus appeared at the head of the stairs and he paused when he saw me. "Oh, were you waiting to get this back?"

"What?" I asked, and he held out my wand with a small smile. The first smile he had worn that night. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "I nearly forgot."

His smile broadened. (Something seemed to be confirmed in his mind.) "Its a fine wand...Silvanus Zed."

"Why, thank you. I think so- Say, you remembered my name."

"Of course I did." He was still smiling.

"Would you like to hear how I got my name? It's quite an interesting story. You see, I was named after my great-"

"Maybe another time," he interjected, tactfully.

I nodded and said, "She's quite a witch, isn't she?"

"Ursula?" Albus shrugged, though his nose wrinkled. "Yea, I guess she's kind of advanced for her year."

"I don't mean that type of witch." I said. "I mean she's a _witch_!"

He grinned, "With the personality of a newt. And I don't mean NEWT, I mean _newt_." I let out a laugh that swiftly turned into a yawn. "It's late. Good night, Silv."

"See you in the morning."

Still smiling, I headed down to the dormitory. I picked out one of the remaining two beds among all the closed curtains, changed quickly and swiftly drowsed off.

* * *

><p>I awoke a few hours later and saw that Albus had still not come down. Curiosity overcame me and I crept stealthily up the stairs. As I reached the top soft voices reached my ears. At the far end of the common room I saw the silhouette of Albus crouched in front of the fireplace with the figure of a head floating placidly in the emerald flame. It was a figure with disheveled hair and round spectacles.<p>

"...Really mean what you told me? Right before I boarded the express?" That was Albus. A voice responded from the fireplace but I could not catch the words. "Yes, I know I can trust them. Both of them."

I realized that I had intruded upon a private moment between two generations and quickly returned to my dreams.


	7. Chapter 7 The Eight That Are One

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE EIGHT THAT ARE ONE

Break-ups suck! Thank goodness I have you loyal readers. All three of you. (Yes you too, Mom.)

* * *

><p>Due to my many remarkable experiences I have become something of a fountainhead of knowledge and wisdom. To such an extant, in fact, that many of my cassual throw-away comments have become well known adages. (You are probably familiar with, '<em>Never trim a troll's toenails before lunch<em>' and '_You may be as old as you feel, but you look like you feel terrible_'. (For more wisdom, go buy my other book.))

Which brings me to my most important and oft disregarded saying: Friends are like semi precious stones, whereas real friends are like rare gems, for they are few and far between. (I admit, throughout the mud heap of life I have accumulated a lot of dirty little pebbles.)

And it happened that Albus, at this particular point in his life, was very fortunate to have found a friend in me (as one could say I possitively glitter) and what's more, he himself knew how fortunate he was to have me by his side.

(Of course he knew he was fortunate. I told him so. Several times.)

And so it was that on our very first morning at Hogwarts I found myself immediately thrust into my friendship duties, for although the whole of Slytherin House had adjourned to the dining hall, Albus, who no doubt had experienced a sleepless night, had not yet risen and I had decided to dawdle in the common room in order to wait for him. (That was indeed the reason. The fact that I was unnerved at the idea of facing Avery and his gang alone was simply a happy coincidence.)

My mind being the nimble, razor-like modern wonder it is, it should come as no surprise to you that I could not abide inactivity and so I utilized my time of solitude by exploring our common room. And I must say, it was truly magical. Among the stylish decor I found an old cheat-quill meant to be used during exams, (though it didn't seem to be functioning at optimum performance, unless the capitol of France _is_ Pismo Beach,) a Weasley wand that turned into a penguin and slapped me, a broken frisbee that tried to bite me and some ancient pellets with a 'Zonko' label that smelled oddly like dung.

I also discovered a rusted lantern that threatened me with an emerald dagger and asked if I was 'pure', and an ugly portrait of some creepy old guy that I could swear was staring at me when I wasn't looking and would quickly divert his eyes when I looked at him.

I was just about to investigate a locked cupbourd off the fireplace when something exceedingly strange happened.

At first I thought it was some sort of furless monkey (which would have been strange enough) but on second glance it reminded me more of some sort of naked infant and on the third glance I finally fully observed it, and wished I hadn't.

It floated out from within the locked cupbourd, almost completely divested of any corporality or substance but, sadly, still visible. It had the porportions of a human child whose skin was raw and rough and flayed looking, but whose face was horribly mutated and snake-like. It appeared to be completely unaware of its surroundings as it floated about the room, wimpering pathetically and incessantly, even as it passed swiftly through the far wall and out of sight.

I know I should have felt sympathy for whatever that...creature was, but, for some odd reason, all I felt was disgust. A shiver ran through me, for I knew, however unlikely it may be, that little wraith was evil.

I stared at the spot on the wall where it had vanished, lost in thought (on matters of which I am sure are far too deep for you) for...I don't know how long, but I was abruptly pulled back to the present by the words, "Hey, spacey. Fancy some breakfast?"

Albus was finally up, though to say he was 'awake' would have been a stretch, as the great, big, purple bags under his eyes attested. "Morning, Albus. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surpriesed. You looked like you were far away."

"I was. I just had a disturbing experience."

"That's odd."

"How so?"

"Well, after eleven years you ought to be used to your reflection."

(What did he mean?) "...What do you mean?"

"What, seriously? Nothing, it was a joke!"

"Oh, very funny." (I still don't get it. Must have been a lame joke.) We started walking up to the dining hall. "Anyway, you seem to be in a better humor."

"Yea, I had a long talk last night with...well yea, I do feel better."

"That's good." He obviously didn't wish to discuss the matter so I didn't pursue it.

"So tell me, Silv," His voice suddenly became casual and upbeat. "What was this 'disturbing experience' you had?"

"Are you making another joke?"

"...No."

"Oh," (It was so hard to tell with him.) "Well, I'm not sure myself what I saw." And so I related to him the weirdness of the common room apparition.

Albus listened quietly and his face became contemplative. "Sounds like it was some sort of ghost." he said. "But then-"

_**HHHSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

We had just stepped into the dinning hall when we were deluged by what sounded like by a very loud, slow leak. The next moment I realized that it was indeed a slow leak, and it was emanating from the Gryffindor table. (Well it only stands to reason: Gryffindor's heads are generally so full of hot air they were bound to burst eventually.) "Oy, look everyone!" a voice rang out. "It's the little Slytherin!" The pronouncement came from James, whose eyes were filled with spiteful malice and were at that moment directed at his little brother. The other Gryffindors his age answered his call with renewed hissing and I saw the newly mended humor of Albus shatter as the light expression was sucked from his face.

Along the Gryffindor table I noticed the pink forehead of Rose Weasley, who was studying her oatmeal with the most intence dedication. (I'm sure, if the oatmeal were alive it would have been very uncomfortable.) I was glad to see she had not joined in with her gang of flat tiers but I did notice that she refused to meet Albus' eye.

"C'mon," I heard a female voice say. "Let's get some food into you." It was Agnes who had appeared by Albus' side and was tugging his elbow in the direction of the Slytherin table. Looking quite miserable, Albus allowed himself to be led by the curly haired, dirty blond, Hufflepuff girl.

It then occurred to me that Agnes planned on joining us at the Slytherin table in an effort to minister moral support to Albus. All at once, upon reflecting on the welcoming additude my house often displayed to strangers (witness last night) I felt compelled to disuade her from this course of action as much for her safety as for ours. (But primarily for ours... Oh, all right! It was entirely for ours. I didn't realy care about her safety.)

"Er, Agnes?" I began. "Agnes?"

"Ms. Murehead to you!"

"Right then. Ms. Murehead, I couldn't help notice that...er...you-"

"Do you have some sort of problem, What's-Your-Face?"

"It's Zed." Albus supplied.

"I won't remember that. Anyways, what's your handicap?"

"Well-"

"Make it fast, I can't be your shrink today!"

(Definetely not for her safety.) "I just had this silly notion that you were going to sit at our table and was going to say that that might not be the best idea-"

"He's right." Albus affirmed, glumly. "Our 'mates' won't have any mercy on you. Best if we just get on alone."

At this, Agnes' eyes burned and her voice took on a hard tone. "What a bunch of prats the two of you are!" she said as she clapped her hands on Albus' shoulders and pushed him to sit on the Slytherin bench. "I'll have the both of you know that I eat wherever and with whomever I wish and I neither need nor desire the permission of a whole- OH SHUT UP, YOU BUNCH OF NURBDANKLES!"

A group of Slytherins, including chubby Damon Devon and pointy faced Allison Smyth, who had just opened their sneering mouths to remark, suddenly jumped back in surprise.

Still growling to herself, Agnes took a seat beside Albus while the rest of the house inched away, giving her a wide berth. (Almost as much as they gave 'Windy', actually.)

Albus, who was himself a bit shell-shocked, said, "Well, I guess I'm glad I'm not eating with all those hissing slow leaks anyway. What's for breakfast?"

"Boiled leaks."

"That's not funny."

"Good, Because I'm not joking. Eat." She said, ladling a large helping of the soggy vegetabes onto his plate.

Off to my left, I once again saw Damon and Allison put their heads together and this time talk in hushed conspiratorial tones. (The tone of the voice lends the gossip more credence as it imbibes subjects of the utmost banality with a sense of mortal urgency.)

"Did you hear the mouth on that one?"

"Thinks she owns the place!"

"Muggle-born hussy,"

"I tell you, this place is going to the dogs."

"Well let me tell _you..._"

(Dear me, this is trite. Hushed tones don't help the content at all. Disregard that previous lecture.)

Beyond them I saw a whisp of silvery whiteness. It gestulated furiously and I recognized it to be a ghostly transparant hand. Leaning forward, I saw that it belonged to the ghost of the Bloody Baron who was at that moment in earnest conversation with the other Hogwarts ghosts. It looked as though they were all ganging up on him and he appeared to be furious at the situation. (Then again, he always appeared to be furious so don't take my word.)

I was suddenly struck with inspiration and ran over to him, catching the last bits of their conversation as I approached. "...I'll have you know, this is a libel!" the Baron was bellowing. "A dirty libel !"

"Now really, sir!" a nearly headless wraith responded in a voice drenched in lofty indignation. "That little monster has pulled one prank to many. He has gotten away with it all these years but it's high time we face the fact-"

"In all my years," the Baron roared, "that little fellow has neven been anything but the non-embodiment of curtesy and politeness!"

"To you, perhaps." came the soothing reply of an overweight friar. "But we must learn to walk in the shoes of others. Others who are less fortunate-"

"Quite right!" the nearly headless one cut in. "You've been oblivious to the real state of affairs to long now. Wake up! Take heed! Look alive!"

"'_Look alive_'?" the Baron said. "Well that's a bit rude there, isn't it?"

"It's just an idiom."

"Who're you calling an 'idiom'?"

"Now really, sir!"

"Ahem," Everyone stopped and looked at the friar, who in turn looked pointedly in my direction. "I think it would be best if we continued this discussion later. Baron, I believe he's one of yours?"

"Yes, yes." he said, impatiently. "But mark me, we _will_ finish this. And what do _you_ want?" The Baron's eyes turned slightly red as he faced me.

I gulped audibly (because of those chewy leaks, not out of fright, you understand.) and related to him my experience with the mysterious little wraith. As I described the creature, the ghost's face became somewhat serious and he nodded from time to time. (He almost forgot to look baleful.) "...And so I thought that you might be able to explain what it is that I saw." I ended.

He just looked at me for several minutes, gathering his thoughts, and then spoke. "Yes, I know of what you speak. There are actually eight of those things floating around the school, though they especially drawn towards the Slytherin sections. Believe it or not, they are actually a single entity."

"What? But then what is it?"

"Something that is beyond anyone's help. Something that while in life feared death so much that even in death it still fears it."

And on that enigmatic note, he floated on through me before I could ask another question, leaving me puzzled and shivering. That was exceptionaly unhelpful. On my way back to the table I made a mental note never to ask a ghost for directions.

"...But you see, she was only hurt that you didn't confide in her." Agnes was explaining to Albus as I sat back down. "Rose feels awful about this whole mess, you know. Maybe even more than you."

"But I've already told her," Albus said, "I can't tell her who I met in McGonagall's office."

"Oh, I understand." Agnes said, quickly. "And believe you me, I respect your privacy. I'm not one of these nosey people who thinks everything is their business. Personally, I don't care what you were doing in there or with whome. Unless you were snogging someone. Were you snogging someone?"

"What? No!"

"Something, then?"

(The pumkin juice I was drinking was suddenly spewed across the table. (I don't know what Allison Smyth was so upset about. She looked better for it.))

"I wasn't snogging!" Albus nearly shouted.

"Alright, alright. No need to get uspet about it. You'll get your chance to snog eventually."

Albus just grunted.

"No snogging, then."

"Right."

"So what _were_ you doing?"

"Agnes!"

"Hey, hey! I already told you I don't care. I'm not one of these big nosey people you see around." (She looked directly at my nose for a moment.) "People- not me, mind- but people are wondering about the person who talked to you. Was she nice to you?"

"'She'?"

"A 'he', then?"

"You're being very obvious, Anges."

"Hey, hey! I already told you-"

"Drop it."

"Alright then. But you should know, Albus: Your family doesn't care that you're in Slytherin. You're still the same person."

"Albus Severus Potter!" The voice was both stern and soothing at the same time and beautiful in a way that only certain female voices could be. I turned and saw that the owner of the voice matched it unquestionably.

She was a seventh year with shining blond hair that flowed down to her hips and seemed to be drawing the attention of every puberty-hit boy in the vicinity. At that moment she was paying them no attention as she was glaring down at Albus with eyes full of disapproval.

"Hi, Victoire."

"Don't you 'Hi, Victoire' me." she said, scathingly. "I am very disappointed in you, Albus. To think, after the sacrifices and legacy that your father has made for you, to stab him in the back in such a way. It is unconscionable. You have shown yourself to be young beyond your years." She lowered her voice and spoke the next words gently. "You should be very ashamed of yourself." She then gracefully spun on her heels and elegantly stalked off.

The boys around us seemed to come out of a stupor while Agnes still looked as though she were speechless. "I can't..." She tried again. "I cannot believe her! What a...What a...big...ugly...a..."

"Nerbdankle?"

"Yes, thank you, Zed. I mean, I _cannot_ believe her! Who does she think she is?"

"My cousin, I'm afraid."

"Disown her!"

"I think she just saved him the trouble." I offered.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyy, Albus old buddy!" It was Marcus Felonios who was striding towards us with his arms flamboyantly outstretched, as though in anticipation of greeting a long lost relative. (Though, why anyone would want to flamboyantly greet any sort of relative is beyond me.) "Little buddy! Where've you been hiding from me?"

[Now, I must take a moment to describe this Marcus Felonios. (Even if the wizard psycologist have already devoted mounds of parchment to his case.) He was a prefect in the same year as Ursula Qualm and I have neglected to mention him until now because he simply did not take his prefect duties as seriously. In fact, in many ways, he was the exact opposite of Ursula Qualm. He was open and gregarious while she was stone-like and forbidding. He was easy going and relaxed while she was rule abiding and acted as though someone had shoved a nimbus 2000 straight up. You get the picture.

Suffice it to say, Marcus was well liked and popular while Ursula ruled with an iron fist. I can only assume the faculty paired the two of them together in the hopes that they would balance each other out, but like so many others, that plan was in the process of descending into glorious failure.]

"Alby, Alby, Alby," he said, combing a hand through his red hair. "I didn't realize you knew the magnificent Victoire Weasley."

"Related, actually."

"Even better!"

"But I've never met you before."

"Well you have right now. Glad to know you. Any chance of you setting us up?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that to you, Marcus." Albus replied. "You havent' done anything that bad."

"Ahhh, I see." Marcus said, slyly. "You'd only set us up in revenge. Ok then, what do I have to do to get on your bad side? I could always give you lines."

"You'd be a bit late." I said. "He's already got lines."

"NO!" He looked aghast. "She doesn't wast any time at all, that Ursula." He then screwed up his face and launched into a surprisingly accurate immitation of his fellow prefect. "_Rules are rules, after all. One may not break the rules under any circumstances, unless the rules are for one to break the rules in wich case stand back while I have a nervouse breakdown. Now give me 26778 lines: 'I will not have nervous breakdowns in class'_- Oh hey there, Ursula."

Ursula suddenly appeared behind me, glaring icily at Marcus. "Good morning, Mr. Felonios. Having much fun?"

"Oh, tons." he replied, completely unabashed. "You shoud try it some time."

"Thank you for the advice." The warmth seemed to be draining from the air around us. She thrust some parchment at Albus and me and said, "These are you class schedules. See that your not late. Albus, I'll expect your lines tonight. And you," she pointed at Agnes. "You don't belong here. Better head off to your own house table." And she turned and continued handing out schedules to the first years, not noticing Agnes stick her tongue out at her.

Marcus sighed. "Charming as ever. It's a wonder I've never gone out with her. Oh, well. If you change your mind, Potter, give me a ring." and he went back to his breakfast and friends. Off at the end of the table I saw Avery and the gang of fifth years who attacked Albus the previous night. They were following Marcus with their gaze and shooting hate filled daggers at him. He might have felt awkward had he noticed.

"What have you got today?" Agnes asked Albus, who was perusing the schedule. "Anything with Hufflepuff?"

"Let's see, Transfiguration...A History of Magic...Oh, and here we have a class together."

"What is it?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." he said, slowly. "With Professor Maim."

I don't know why, but I suddenly felt a shiver run through me.

* * *

><p>By the way, I made a slight update to the end of chapter six.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8 Teacher, I Ate My Homework

Anyone interested in the best next gen. Albus fic. out there should check out "The Chimaera of Judgement" by Jessica-X.

* * *

><p><span>CHAPTER EIGHT<span>

TEACHER, I ATE MY HOMEWORK

_The very first Portkey was invented by Glinda the White in the year 1939. It was in the form of ruby slippers and, since the practice was not them illegal, she tested them out on a young muggle girl. And her little dog too._

_She procured the girl by kidnapping her and sending her on a 'quest's to harass her sister who, at the time, was sufferring from a serious case of spattergroit, making her highly sensitive to water, and who had initiated her own claims against the patent of the newly developed portkey... ...yadda...yadda...yadda...yadda...yadda..._

There were quite a few more 'yadda's until his voice finally slipped peacefully into oblivion. And so, I had experienced my very first History of Magic lesson. (It was very restful.)

I have to say, however, it was not quite what I had pictured when I heard Albus read it out at the breakfast table. I immediately made a scan of the Head Table but could not find any 'Professor Binns'. And then Agnes pointed out that Professor Maim was absent as well.

"That's strange," I said, "Don't these teachers have to eat?"

"Maybe," Albus mused. "You never know in this place."

"I suppose we'll all find out soon enough." Agnes said, helping herself to more pickled bat wings.

The mystery of the absentee history professor was cleared up right away, as he looked as though he hadn't eaten breakfast for several centuries at the least. But our amazement at his direct, unconventional entrance quickly faded as he began to teach and the sleep of death overtook us. Albus made a valiant effort to take notes but his late night talk with home significantly weakened his defenses and he soon gave in.

Flavious Flannel, a tall gangly fellow with thick glasses and premature acne, was the only one who didn't look well-rested at the end of class and I made a mental note to look over his homework later.

Transfiguration conformed a lot more with my expectations. Professor Chang made a role call of the class, trying to learn our names, and then went through the basics of the subject and what she would expect from us.

"We'll start off small." she had said. "Your first assignment will be to turn straw into spaghetti noodles. And I suggest you seriously apply yourselves and make it edible. It will be in your lunch later today."

We practiced for a while (with only Flavious seeing any results. (I was slowly developing a strong dislike for him.)) and she dismissed us, but not before assigning us a foot-long essay on proper wand technique. (I later came up with a loophole for such assignments. I pointed out to Professor Longbottom that he didn't specify _whose_ foot. I wound up with three weeks of detention plus the gift of a brand new ruler, for future reference.)

Having concluded our first two magical classes Albus and I were understandibly famished and we made our way to the Great Hall for lunch, comparing impressions of our new teachers as we went. (The over all opinion was that Professor Chang was competent and Professor Binns was...there.)

As we neared the din of the Great Hall we were headed off by Agnes who had been waiting for us at the entrance. "Hi, Albus," she said, pointedly. (She must have forgotten my name again.) "You don't want to go in there. Your brother- James, isn't it?- has got something really nasty planned for you. Best you eat lunch some place else. Here, I brought you out a care package from my table."

She handed him a cloth bag she had been carrying that was disseminating a savory aroma.

"Thanks, Agnes." he said, a slight smile playing across his face.

Something was puzzling me, however. "'Your table'?" I asked. "Why did you specify it was from your table?"

"You should be grateful." she sniffed. "The only thing the Slytherin table was served was some sort of horrid spaghetti."

Since the weather permitted it, we took our food outside and settled down under an old beech tree while Anges prattled on. "Oh, I've had such an interesting morning." she prattled. "We started off with herbology and learned about this thing called a... a... _mimbulus mimbletonia. _Professor Longbottom went on and on about it. (I think he's got a kind of crush on it.) And then we had Care of Magical creatures and Professor Hagrid, (he sends his love, by the way,) showed us this winged monkey that used to be trained to act as a minion for wiches back in the day. It was fascinating! I can't wait for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Oh my gosh! Look at the time! I better get my stuff together. I'll see you at class."

Albus sighed, pulled out some parchment from his book bag and got to work on Ursula's lines. Two minutes in he paused and looked at me with a worried expression. "What do you think Defense will be like?" he asked.

I shrugged, "With a name like "Maim, how bad could he be?"

* * *

><p>Not long after, we found ourselves queued outside the designated classroom. The mood was a bit tense as both Slytherins and Hufflepuffs (or 'Snuffle Duffs' as my House liked to refer to them) waited in realative silence.<p>

Normally, I prefer the quiet, but in this case it only helped carry the booming conversation of Malfoy and his over-sized pet. (Ratsin I think was his name.)

"Your father was especially talented at Defense, wasn't he Scorpius?" Ricardo Ratsin seemed to have memorized his lines fairly well, considering he had trouble with basic literacy.

"Ah, Ricardo, how you do exagerate." Malfoy replied, in a would-be embarrassed sort of voice. "No, he was only your basic prodigy when it came to Defense, or in his case, Offense. (Insert sanctimonious titter here.) But it was at potions where he really excelled. Why, his professors considered him their top student, and many-"

A loud creaking ensued as the door to the classroom slowly swung open of its own accord. Everyone's neck craned at the threshold, searching for who ever caused the door to open, and saw no one.

**_ENTER._**

A high pitched voice sounded in my head. I looked around in confusion and saw my reaction mirrored in all the students around me. Everyone was mutterring slighty, asking if anyone else had heard the echo.

**_ENTER!_**

The voice was more insistent this time, and consequently on a higher key. Albus took this cue and boldly entered the empty room and the rest of the group began to follow in small trickles. Slowly, the room filled up and the students milled around awkwardly, not knowing what to do or what to expect.

**_SIT!_**

This time everybody immediately obeyed the disembodied voice and scrambled for an empty desk that were all aranged with two seats per desk. I managed to get a desk with Albus and I noticed that Agnes wound up paired with Jane Doe.

"What's this?" Albus whispered to me. I looked down and noticed that our desk had a neat little white box on it. You know, the kind you get at bakeries when you order to go. It turned out that every desk came prepared with a neat little white box, but, like us, no one dared to touch them before receiving further instruction from the unknown.

The shrill voice sounded again.**_ My name is Professor Maim. I shall be instructing you in the studies of Defense Against the Dark Arts._**

At this, a piece of chalk rose wobbly in front of the black board and, with horrible screeching scratches, wrote out 'Proffesser Mayme' and 'Defence against the darc arts'. (I've seen smarter sticks of chalk in my day.) Everyone felt extremely out of sorts; unsure wich direction they should face or if this all wasn't just some practical joke.

The voice continued. **_You may think of this subject as a subject unto itself, but you would be wrong. The Dark Arts are relentless and cunning and require all the talents at your disposal. For that reason, this course encompasses ALL aspects of magical education, be it wand waving or potion brewing._**

**_Well? WRITE THAT DOWN!_**

There followed a scurry of flapping parchment and squeeking quills.

**_Now, who can tell me what is the most important ability one could possess when facing the dark arts?_**

Everyone's hand rose into the air.

**_Anyone? Anyone at all?_**

Their hands waved about frantically.

**_Hmph! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I'll give you a hint. It's not transfiguration..._**

Several hands lowered.

**_And it's not potions or charms..._**

Half the class, now.

**_In fact, it's not even a magical ability._**

Now the other half. A feeling of genuine curiosity spread throughout the group. Albus and Agnes exchanged quizzical glances.

**_I can't tell you how many brilliant wizards and witches were done in simply because they couldn't...run. Oh, you think I jest! But picture this: Your very self, on your knees, panting for breath, unable to utter a single curse because, like it or not, you are housed in a physical body that will betray you any chance it gets._**

**_In that light, I have arranged for your very first assignment. You are all grouped into pairs with each pair in possession of a little white box. Your objective is simple: EAT THE CONTENTS OF THE BOX. _**

**_The first two students to do so will gain ten points each for their House. Everyone else will simply pass. Or fail. Failing is more likely, I will admit. Try anyways._**

**_...WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? OPEN YOUR BOX!_**

Albus reached out and gingerly pulled up the lid of our box. I braced myself for whatever poison I would be greeted with.

And then I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a cookie. It was an oddly shaped cookie, true, but still just a cookie. It was in the form of a crudely shaped human with jellybeans and icing for features and clothing. I faintly cought the smell of freshly baked gingerbread.

Albus let out a little laugh and reached for it. But it was no longer there.

Quick as lightning, our little gingerbread man had leaped from its box and proceeded to dance a little jig on the floor before us. It faced us, shot us a mischievous grin and let out a loud raspberry. "_Ha, ha, ha,_" it trilled. "_Catch me, catch me if you can! You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!_"

Albus and I exchanged bemused looks and then yelled, "GET IT!" We dove over our desk as one, colliding with Jane Doe, who was scrambling desperately after her own deftly moving delicacy.

The classroom was in complete pandemonium as everyone ran, dove and tripped over each other, all the while hearing the constant cacophony of _Catch me, catch me if you can! You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!_

"Where has ours gone?" Albus yelled at me over the general ruckus of screaming, crashing and cursing.

"It's over there, by the doorway!" I pointed. (I could tell right away that it was our little gingerbread man. It was mooning us.)

"Surround it!" Albus called, veering off to the right while I moved to the left, jumping over a shuffling Damon Devon as I did so. But the little fellow simply turned and ran out the door.

We were taken aback for a moment, but only for a moment. In a thrice we had followed it and were charging full speed down the corridor. Through hallways and classrooms. Up moving staircases and down sliding banisters. The blasted cookie remained firmly fixed ahead of us, constantly jibing, _Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me! I'm the gingerbread man!_

As it left the castle and made its way over the open grounds I felt my energy ebbing and a sharp stitch stabbing me through my ribs. Panting raggedly, I saw that Albus was in no better condition. He slowed and pulled me to a halt. "This ... isn't ... working." he gasped.

"Should... we... use ... our wands, ...d'you think?"

"For... for what?" he asked. "We don't know... any spells."

"Maybe... we can... turn it into... a strand of... spaghetti."

Albus just shook his head. "We'll have to... think of... something else."

Noticing that we had stopped our pursuit, our gingerbread man also stopped running and began dancing around with abandon, throwing all types of rudness at us. (Honestly, I don't know where a gingerbread man would pick up such language.) Watching the dinutive figure hop about in front of the lake, I was spurred onward. I would eat gingerbread today. I just had to figure out how.

I retreated into my mind. My fortress of solitude, and began to take apart the problem. Time slowed down and the sounds around me dimmed as my brain raced forward. There was nothing but the problem. Nothing but the problem, and in the problem was hidden the solution.

And, was it there? Was that the solution? I grasped at it and check it over from all angles. Was it sound? It could work. Maybe.

It felt as though I had removed my head from a dunking. Sound came rushing back and everything returned to normal, but I had the answer.

"Albus!" I exclaimed, "Help me with this rock!"

I bent down and started to lift a quaffle-sized stone. "Silv," Albus sounded exasperated. "We couldn't hit that thing even if that rock were as small as a snitch."

"Albus, just trust me!"

_Ha, ha! Throw it! Throw it, if you will, you coudn't hit me if I sat still!_

"That does it!" Albus grasped the rock with fury and, together, we raised it to waist level. "What now?" he grunted.

"Throw it."

"How far?"

"As far as you can."

"On three, then? One... two... HEAVE!"

The rock sailed from our hands and twirled an arc through the air, over the head of the laughing gingerbread man, and falling well behind him.

SPLASH

The stone hit the lake with a pop, sending water spraying in all directions. The dancing cookie was deluged. It seemed not to notice at first but then its soggy limbs became to heavy, and began to crumble off.

We took a few steps toward it and it turned to run in a panic, but forgot its feet. It struggled in the grass and yelled obsenities at us as Albus and I nipped off a corner and triumphantly took a bite.

No sooner had the soaking dough touched our lips when a shrill voice sounded in our heads. **_Albus Potter and Silvanus Zed have each earned ten points to Slytherin. Well done._**

And the bell rang.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to review before you leave. (Especially if you didn't enjyoy.)<p> 


	9. Chapter 9 Felonious Lines

happy holidays to all.

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><p><span>CHAPTER NINE<span>

FELONIOUS LINES

My personality is remarkably unique. Many people are wont to admit it, but I simply do not react to certain situations the same way the average fellow does. (I maintain this view despite the unsolicitted opinions of a handfull of psychologists of dubious reputation.)

There is one exception in where I am typical, and that is in exultation. I like to gloat. And I am quite good at gloating too. After all, I have had a lot of practice. Thanks to my miriad of talents and abilities I almost always win. (And on those few occassions when I lose, I usually do it on purpose, to see how the other side lives. Purely academic.)

Conversely, everyone else seems to be equally adept at losing and acting the sore loser.

It took the rest of the class at least two hours to complete the gingerbread man assignment and when we later met a haggard Agnes she was in a mood most foul. Her hair was in complete disarray and she had bright pink blotches on her cheeks. "I don't think I care much for Defense Against the Dark Arts." she informed us tersely before storming off to bathe.

Albus was still flushed from his victory and remained in good spirits almost all the way down to our common room. The only thing that marred his evening was a chance meeting with his cousin.

Walking jauntily down a corridor, still discussing my- I mean _our_ little adventure, he almost collided with Rose, who was rushing distractedly in the opposite direction. Their eyes met and Rose's face made a nearly perfect immitation of the hue of her flaming hair. A prolonged awkwardness was drawn out, compounded by a mutual loss of words.

I heard Albus make an intake of breath, on the verge of speaking when Rose suddenly hugged her books tightly to her chest, put her head down, and strode off quickly in the opposite direction.

Once again, Albus had his energy drained from him and he suddenly became reticent. (For my part, I couldn't (and still can't) understand why he let his family get to him so. After all, I myself have gone to great lengths and troubles to ensure my relatives _never_ talk to me. None of them successful if the crowd living in my basement is any indication. But Albus was oddly sentimental when it came to his family. Poor lad.)

He made his way quietly down to our common room and didn't even laugh at the multitute of positively hillarious jokes I threw at him all the while. (He was obviously very distressed.) He didn't even cringe when he remembered that he had to continue with his lines. He slumped into an armchair near the fire and pulled out a wad of parchment and quill.

"That was kind of strange, though." he remarked as his hands flew over the parchment.

"I know. But she's a girl. They never make sense."

"No, I'm talking about Defense Against the Dark Arts. I mean, we actually have a teacher who's more see-through then Binns."

"I suppose. Or it could be Professor Maim simply couldn't come in to teach today." I pointed out. "Didn't you notice how his voice didn't respond to the class at all?"

"You're saying he may not have even been there in the room with us?"

"Or he could just be highly neurotic."

"That would fit in more with the trend I've seen. Whoa!"

Albus' head suddenly spun around, fully alert. "Did you see that?"

"Sure," I replied calmly.

"You did?"

"Yea, you just freaked out for a moment back there."

Albus made an impatient sound. "Not that, you idiot. Over there! That portrait of that creepy old codger."

"What about it?"

"I think he was staring at me."

I looked at the dusty old painting hanging on the glistening stone wall. The alleged creepy occupant was leering determinedly into the abstract distance. "Well, he now seems to have lost interest in you." I said, equally.

"Strange..." Albus muttered.

"Oh, it's not _that_ strange. You're not all that interesting to watch. Say, where are you holding in your lines?"

Albus sighed ruefully. "Only at four hundred and sixty three. And we've still got that essay for Chang to finish."

At that moment a shadow fell upon us as a tall figure stepped in front of the crackling fire place, obscuring its warmth. "Only four hundred and sixty three?" A cold voice tutted. "Dear me, that is dissappointing."

We quickly raised our heads and looked up to see Marcus Felonious grinning down at us. He was once again immitating the voice and tone of the prefect Ursula Qualm, and was impressively accurate (and not a little bit disturbing.)

"Well, hello again, Victoire's cousin."

"Albus."

"That's what I said." The gangly red head laughed as he slouched lazily into a chair, having casually dislocated its previous scrawny occupant. "But seriously," he yawned, "how is it your only at four hundred?"

Albus gave a mirthless laugh. "What do you mean?" he said. "I've only just got this punishment last night, and I've been working on it non stop."

Marcus let out a disbelieving snort. "Well that just doesn't sound right. You should be well and done by now. Here, lemme see!"

With a smooth and decisive motion Marcus leaned forward and slipped the parchment right out from between Albus' fingers. Albus made a small sound of protest which the prefect ignored, choosing instead to closely study his lines while rubbing his chin in mock concentration.

"AHA!" he cried triumphantly, causing heads around the common room to swivel in their direction. (But not to me. I was pretending not to know them.) "There's your problem." he said, slapping the parchment with smug satisfaction. "Your doing it the wrong way."

"'The wrong way'?"

"Correct,"

"It's correct?"

"No, it's wrong."

"But didn't you say it's correct?"

"That would be wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Correct,"

"Correct?"

"I'm very confused."

"Stay out of this, Zed."

"Shall we start again?"

"No, Marcus. But correct me if I am wrong-"

"Wait, your starting again!"

"ZED!"

"Alright, I'll be quiet."

"Look," said Marcus, his eyes glinting. "I can do this all night (I believed him.) but it just so happens I've got to be somewhere soon. Let me just show you."

He flattened the parchment on a foot stool in front of us so we could all view it easily and he pointed vaguely at Albus' assortment of misshappen chicken scratches. "Now, from what I can make out, this is supposed to say '_I shall not fight_',"

"That right," I said.

"What do you mean, 'supposed to say'?" Albus asked.

"So the fastest way to finish this is like so:" Marcus produced a colorful quill from within his robes, dipped it into Albus' inkwell, placed the tip at the top of the parchment and proceeded to draw a long vertical line all the way down to the bottem edge of the parchment.

Albus and I bent forward and looked on with interest, completely at a loss as to what was going on.

Marcus added two more vertical lines like the first one, only at a slight distance off and then sighed with satisfaction. "There you are," he said.

"And where is that?"

"Still don't get it? Here watch," And then, in between the first two vertical lines he added the letters _s h _and _a_ so that the first line took on the appearance of an elongated 'I' and and the last two a pair of very long 'L's. In the most technical sense, it spelled out '_I shall_'

"You just do the same thing with the 'T' and make the 'H' upper case." he advised. "Cuts the work time down drasitically, it does.

Albus stared at him incredulously. "This couldn't possibly work." he stated flatly.

"Oh, it couldn't?" Marcus made to sound overly hurt with indignation. "I'll have you know, my sceptical young fling-flang, that this technique has served me well for nigh on to six years."

"But don't the teachers see that you-"

"Well, you do the first few pages the old fashioned way, but tell me honestly: Who inspects and reads through lines?"

I thought about it a minute and had to admit the ginger prefect had a point.

Albus grinned appreciatively. "You know," he said. "This isn't the best way to get on my bad side."

"What? For Victoire? Pffft!" Marcus made a derisive fling of his wrist. "Last I checked Marcus Felonious didn't need the help of a midget first-year to get on with the ladies." He got to his feet and stretched in a bored way to display his supreme unconcern. "You just look out. One day our kids will be second cousins once removed. Or is it first cousins twice removed?"

The prefect began to swagger off when he suddenly stopped and slapped his forehead. "How do you like that?" he said, turning back to face us. "I nearly forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"The reason I came over to you two gits in the first place." He stuck his hand into a pocket in his robes, fished out a small bit of folded parchment and held it out to Albus. "When I was in the Great Hall this evening a girl- a first year I think- came over to me and asked me to give you this."

Features full of curiousity, Albus took the scrap. "Who was she?"

Marcus shrugged. "Don't know, do I? She wasn't from Slytherin."

"Then what did she look like?" I asked.

Marcus gazed at me like I had sprouted an extra head. "That's a sort of daft question, in't it? All you little tykes look the same. See you." And he strode off whistling a merry little tune.

Albus and I exchanged bewildered looks and he turned to the little bit of parchment. Slowly he unfolded it and the words displayed themselves starkly in the flickering fire light.

MEET ME TONIGHT IN THE LIBRARY.

MIDNIGHT.

IMPORTANT.

COME ALONE.


	10. Chapter 10 A Question of 'Rendezvus'

CHAPTER TEN

A QUESTION OF 'RENDEZVUS'

After a severely long and raucous discussion with my editors I have been given to understand that, apparently, I devote entirely too much description narrative to myself and not enough to the famous Albus Severus Potter.

(It was also suggested that I "get over myself", whatever that's supposed to mean. (There were quite a few more suggestions given to me, none of which I am inclined to go into right now. Suffice it to say, they were physical impossibilities.))

And so I will acquiesce. Let it never be said that I do not possess enough class and integrity so as to withhold from the public that which they are demanding.

And in any event, it's not as though I require the spotlight or begrudge Albus in any way. You may recall, I am a very humble, private individual who detests publicity in all forms. Why, my own healer practically has to pull teeth just to get me to divulge my own vital statistics, I am so reluctant to talk about myself.

(In one instance, it was simply because I had a cavity.)

Even when the receptionist would ask me for my name- Silvanus Zed- which in itself is a very interesting story how I came by that name. You see, I was named after my great-

Oh, very well! Very well! Albus. Let us talk about Albus. Lets see...

Albus...

What can we say about Albus?

Well I can say one thing about Albus: Acting as his friend is a most taxing and exasperating experience. He is simply impossible. It is excruciatingly frustrating to share a friendship with someone who will not use common sense or basic prudence. He is headstrong, stubborn, impulsive and will often act against his own interests.

He is the type of person who would dive into a whirlpool without hesitation in order to save someone from drowning. (I know! It defies reason and sanity, but there you go...)

A prime example of this defect of his was displayed the night he recieved a little folded piece of parchment. For a few moments he simply stared at the words in a bemused sort of way; not speaking or reacting.

I peered curiously over his shoulder. "Do you recognize the handwritting?" I asked. He shook his head silently. "Oh well," I said in a resigned sort of voice. "I guess it will remain a mystery. Wow, what a long first day, huh? Lot of stuff happened. I'll tell you, I'm right tuckered out, I am. I can hear my pillow calling all the way from up here. Suppose I'll turn in in a bit. You should think about doing the same, by the way. I don't think you got a whole lot of sleep last night. It'll do you a whole lot of good. You'll be refreshed and have a completely new outlook on-"

"I'm not going to bed yet."

"...Yes sirree- say what?"

"I said, I'm not going to bed just yet."

My forehead creased in confusion. "Why ever not?"

In answer, he looked at me as though he expected me to figure it out myself. (It only took me a couple of minutes.) "You're not actually considering making this late-night rendezvus, are you?"

It was his turn to look confused. "'Rendezvus?"

I gave him a patient, yet patronizing smile. "Yes, rendezvus. It means a meeting point." (Poor boy was moderately bright but had a lousy vocabulary.)

"I think the word 'renezvous' is pronounced 'rondayvoo'."

(Apparently he also had trouble with basic spelling. I decided to humor him.)"Fine then! You're not going to make this...'rondayvoo', are you?"

He set his jaw and squared his shoulders. "I am."

"Albus, don't! You'll only get into trouble and you'll lose all the points that I- I mean _we_- won today. You don't even know this girl. You don't owe her anything. There is no reason to take such a risk."

Albus stood up and made to collect his things, indicating he didn't want to hear any more of my pearls. "Come on, Silv," he said, sounding a little annoyed. "Why are you so skittish? Brave up a bit! Show some backbone!"

"I always show backbone! Generally, when I'm running away. This is something you should be doing. This is basic fight or flight mechanics. Little bugs understand this concept, why don't you? Are you even listening?"

He was not. He had settled back into his chair and had started looking up the charm for wand illumination. (As I said, it was very frustrating being his friend.) I didn't give up, though. I continued to make my case calling upon arguments of such logical ferocity it would have set the greatest phisophers quaking with fright.

Albus licked his finger, turned the page and yawned.

Steadily and surely the common room began to empty and I quieted down, not wishing to advertise Albus' intentions in the realative quiet to those few remaining. (That was indeed the reason; it wasn't as though I had run out of brilliance to spout.)

At around half past eleven there were only three besides ourselves still in the common room. They were Flavious Flannel who was bent low over his homework assignment and scrawling furiously (apparently unaware that most of his scribbling was going onto the table as apposed to his crammed parchment), and Damon Devon with Allison Smyth deep in the enchanting world of idle gossip. They were gigling quite alot and they glanced surreptitiously in our direction many times. (I checked to make sure no one had jinxed my nose upside down. (A very popular prank at the time.) It was fine, if a little runny.)

They carried on a bit longer and finally made their way downstairs, still bursting from unrelinquished laughter at their hidden joke.

It took a little longer but at five to twelve Flavious also went down. I mean he slumped over and fell asleep on his his homework spreading the ink all over the parchment and his freckled face in a ruddy mess. (What I can't fathom is why to this day people still insist he is smart.)

The moment the bespectacled Flannel started drooling Albus leaped to his feet, throwing off all signs of lethargy and presented himself as the picture of readiness. "It's almost time," he said. "Come on. We've only got a few minutes."

He ran for the door, stopped and turned about with raised eyebrows. "Aren't you comming?" he asked.

I looked around. He must have been talking to me. Everyone else was gone and Flannel was sleeping. (Though he wasn't worth talking to even when awake. (That isn't part of the narrative, it's just good advice.)) "Why would I make this renezvus?" I asked. "The note was to you, and anyway I've already said that going is a bad idea."

"Come on, Silv. Aren't you even a little curious about this?" He held up the small flapping note.

I shrugged. "Sure I am. I also had a great big itch square on my rear end today in public."

"What has that to do with-"

"I held myself back then and I'll do it now. You should do the same."

Albus looked at me with not a little dissapointment. "I guess I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Guess so."

"G'night," And the wall slid twice and he was gone.

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><p>I made my way down to the dormitory. It was so far underground that the air felt moist and thick and even slight shadows took on a firmer substance. The only sounds that came to my ears as I made my way to my bed were the graceful footfalls of my light footsteps and the gentle breaths of sleeping roommates. (Actually, that's not entirely true; there were also some rather ominous sounds eminating from Windy's direction.)<p>

And then something else caught my ear. I stiffened and pricked my accute hearing to the utmost.

Silence.

But there it was again! Something foreign Something that did not belong in this dormitory. It was subtle but it raised the hackles on the back of my neck. An incessant sound that was definetely coming from Albus' empty bed. But then I came to the realization: It was not empty.

I approached the four poster cautiously and slowly, ever so slowly, I peered over the railing.

At first I was not sure what I was seeing. It looked like the sheets were writhing chaotically with a horrible life of its own. And then I noticed tiny legs. Hundreds of spinely tiny legs racing frantically over the white sheets while chittering and clicking their distgusting pincers. They moved so fast I could not be sure, but each hairy creature looked to be around the size of my fist.

I gasped and stepped back in revulsion. Now I understood the fascinating joke that Damon and Allison were sharing and I wondered vaguely if they even had enough brains between the two of them to come up with this on their own. My second thought was that I must inform Albus. It only stood to reason. After all, if I had unexpected company crashing in _my_ bed I would certainly want someone to let me know.

It was settled then. I would tell Albus. Now, where was he? Oh yes, he had gone. Well then, I would simply have to go after him. (Any time a friend of mine has a weird creature crawling about his personal possesions, you can be sure, I shall be there! That's the kind of man I am!)

I grabbed my wand, fumbled with my slippers and the next moment I was beyond the sliding door and carreening down a dark stone passageway. (Inadvisable, this. Could lead to accidental run-ins with hard walls. Hurts something awful.) Holding my throbbing nose and uttering painful oaths I made my way in persuit of my foolish friend.

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><p>Sorry for the long wait. Next chapter's almost done. Two or three days. Thanks for reading.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11 A Feet of a Meeting

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A FEET OF A MEETING

It's an uncomfortable fact of life that few adults are brave enough to admit but I shall speak plainly: Darkness changes what it touches.

Now, I am not referring to the figurative Darkness of evil that destroys and rots all noble hearts and putrifies innocence with impunity, etc. etc. I am referring to simple darkness. A lack of light particles. For example: The very same bright hallways you strode through confidently that very afternoon will suddenly, in the dead of night, take on a malevolence so intense you are convinced there must be an evil consciousnes behind it as you tentatively inch through its blackness. All the rooms and passages feel suddenly larger and empty but filled with glaring eyes at the same time. The silence presses in about you yet you are suddenly assaulted by a whole host of enexplainable creaks, mournful groans and mocking echoes.

Beyond every corner and after every wall I passed as I made my way through the winding tunnels of Hogwarts I could feel the silent laughter and hear the shadows whisper wicked things...

There was a soft pit pat behind me and the soft whispers turned into a malicious chuckle. I stopped. Turned. The passage was bare and then swallowed by blackness. I continued on, holding my wand a little tighter and wishing fervently that I had not left my House in the first place. (I tried to remember the spell for illuminating my wand but it was obviously a spell well beyond the abilities of even a third year, much less a first year, even one with my great talents.)

_Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat..._

There it was again. I thought I heard small footsteps and a little chuckle. But there was nothing around me. It must have been my imagination. I read somewhere that those with high intelligence are often plaugued by an overly active imaginatio-

_Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, pit pat..._

I swung around sharply just in time to see it bearing down upon me. I screamed and my wand dropped...

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><p>The little gingerbread man gigled and ran past me, quickly becoming enveloped in the darkness. Even as it moved away I could still make out its horrible chuckle echoing distantly. Evidently, not everyone had managed to complete Professor Maim's assignment.<p>

Still shaking slightly, I bent down to retrieve my wand. (I must point out at this point that I didn't actually 'scream'. It was more like a gasp. You know, a very loud gasp that someone who is ignorant might confuse with a scream. (...Oh yes, and it wasn't _at all_ girly.))

It was then that I noticed that I was right outside the library. Making as little noise as possible, I entered, keeping an eye out for any more nasty surprises. And then, coming from behind a tall bookcase, I saw what was unmistakenably wand light. I tip towed over to the bookcase and pushed aside some of the dusty tomes (causing some of them to grunt in there sleep) and made for myself a sort of peephole through which I could observe what was happening on the other side.

And there, holding his shining wand up high and bouncing on the balls of his feet, stood an impatient Albus. He waited and waited until, at last, she finally strode forth from behind a bookcase causing Albus to lower his wand in shock.

"You!" he exclaimed.

The next moment it seemed as though Albus had been consumed by a flash of redness and a high pitched squeal rent the air. I peeped intently through my peephole in order to make out what was happening. "Oh, Albus," I heard a familiar voice cry. I looked more closely and discerned that the flash of redness was actually a shock of bright ginger hair, and the high pitched wail was in fact the excited outburst of...

"R-Rose?" Albus stammered. His face was painted with shock as his cousin embraced him with (a most distgusting) effusion of emotion. "W-what's going-?"

"Albus," still clenching his shoulders, Rose slowly backed at of her embrace all the while gazing at Albus as if at any moment he might dissappear. "Albus, it's all right." She was speaking calmly now but I noticed that there were glistening tear tracks on her cheeks. "I got your letter, Albus."

"My letter-?"

"And it's all right now. I forgive you."

"You-...I...what?"

She drew him into another hug while he continued to sputter in confusion. But after a few moments he seemed to resolve that answers simply did not matter and he returned her gesture with open warmth and relief.

It is a testement to how absorbed I was in my friend's affairs that I was not aware of the figure steadily creeping up behind me until steely fingers were placed upon my nape and a cold voice whispered in my ear, "Enjoying the show, are we?"

For the second time that night I opened my mouth to scr- to gasp loudly but I was held off by Agnes who placed two stern fingers over my lips.

"What are you doing here?" I panted.

"What am _I_ doing here?" she bellowed in a harsh whisper. "You're asking _me_ what _I'm_ doing here?" Her eyes blazed; she was almost appoplectic with anger. "What are _you_ doing here? Can't you read? The note said that Albus shoud come ALONE. ALONE meaning without you, you lousy, spying, peeping piece of-"

"Wait a minute." I was starting to put two and two together. "_You_ sent that note to Albus?"

"OF COURSE I-" She cought herself as her volume rose too high. Motioning with her head she irritably gestured that I shoud follow her to a more discreet part of the library. "Of course I sent that note!" she spat when we were safely out of earshot. "This whole thing with Albus and Rose was ridiculously out of hand and had gone on long enough. I knew that all Rose wanted was for Albus to apologise for not confiding in her and I knew that they both wanted to be on good terms again-"

"So you manipulated the both of them."

"Don't interrupt me, Dez."

"Zed,"

"Whatever. Anyways, I just arranged for Rose to recieve an apologetic note from Albus and Albus to get one from Rose. It was a perfect plan and it was going swimingly...until you showed up."

I stiffened in anger. The nerve of this girl! To think that it should ever be suggested that I, Silvanus Zed, would be considered nothing more than a trifling inconvenience. The ignomity was simply too much- too much, I say! I roused my most formidable intellect and wit and made ready to battle this unworthy foe. "Oh, yea?" I said. (I was just getting warmed up.) "Well...well your plan was stupid anyway." (That ought to hold her.)

Her smile was lopsided and disdainful. Her eyes almost pittiful. "Really?" she asked with some amusement. "Pray, tell me what was the glaring flaw?"

Ouch! She was calling my bluff. My brain raced. It was time to improvise. "You...er...had them meet...in a public place after lights-out...where someone could have cought them...and then they would have been angry, and the anger would have been turned on eachother and your whole idea would backfire-"

"Oh, please!" she guffawed. "That's ridiculous! If there's one thing I'm certain, its that the library is completely desserted at midnight."

"Hello? Who's there?" It was a voice but it didn't come from either of us. Anges and I exchanged fearful glances and quickly dashed beneath the nearest table. We were out of bounds very late at night and definetly did not want to be caught. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Keeping perfectly still, Anges and I watched a pair of feet move slowly from behind a bookcase and step cautiously towards our hiding place. The shiny shoes came closer and closer. I noticed Agnes grip her legs all the tighter and she held her breath.

"What are you doing?" It was another voice.

The pair of shoes stopped its progress and turned. "I thought I heard people talking here."

"Your imagining things, Avery. There's no one here."

"Yea, I guess your right. Tell the group to come in. We can set up by that table."

Once again, Agnes and I looked into eachother's horrified eyes. There was no doubt in my mind as to which table he was referring. The next moment the entire alcove of the library was filled with milling feet moving all around our pathetic barrier. I could feel a panic rise inside of me as the chairs were pulled away and legs slid under the table to replace them. Agnes and I were forced to press uncomfortably together in an effort to avoid collision with the potruding knees.

"I think we may dispense with the plaeasantries." It was Avery who spoke from the head of the table, cutting into the cassual babble. All around us the Alcove grew quiet and all the legs stiffened, ready to get to business.

All the while Agnes' eyes were darting back and forth furiously, ever searching for a means out of our predicament. I knew it was hopeless. We were stuck fast as unwilling spectators of this late-night meeting.

A gavel sounded on the table above us. "The meeting of our Order will comence." It was a harsh, gravely male voice that spoke. It brought to mind two stones being roughly rubbed together. "The first item on the agenda is this...Professor. Professor Tinfoil of Muggle Studies."

There was some gleeful sounds that issued from all about our hiding place. "Have yo been told what we should we do about him?"

"Yes, Avery. The instructions are quite simple for the moment. We are all to develop a strong enthusiasm for his subject. Anyone here not currently taking his class should transfer at once. In due course we will give him our own lesson." This statement was followed by excited sniggering. Agnes was wearing an expression that was both frightened and appalled

The gravely voice continued. "The next item concerns the...'new addition' to the noble House of Slytherin-"

"He is no 'addition'!" Avery spoke through what sounded to be his clenched teeth. "He is alien and his presence is a mockery to our founder and all he stood for."

"Avery-"

"He is a festering gangrene and we must do everything we can to remove him as soon as possible-"

"MR. AVERY HELLIX!"

Avery settled suddenly into submissive silence as the other voice asserted itself. After a few moments it continued in a calmer tone. "As I was saying: We have a new addition of a more...controversial nature. As it happens, we have been delivered very specific instructions regarding him. Regardless of your personal feelings he is to remain unharrassed..." Perturbed murmuring broke out. "...And unmolested. You are all to leave him alone. Anyone who violates this directive will be found traitorous before this Order and will suffer the full-"

"It is _you_ who are speaking like a traitor!" Avery seemed to be beyond containing himself. "Tell me, Gustov, why should we obey something so offensive? Something that goes against every grain of everything we-"

"You will obey..." Gustov's gravely voice was quiet but held an unmistakable threat behind it's coolness. "...Because you will demonstrate the respect that is due to our new Dark Lord."

END PART ONE

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><p>This is pretty cool, I've never written eleven chapters befor.<p>

I'd like to give a shout out to some great guys: Mr.s **T. D. Lazer, Loud wits, Cry man **and **Andrew zee**. Know you enjoyed, hope it continues.


	12. Chapter 12 Excerpt 1

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXCERPT #1

Throughout the lives of the Potters this remarkable family faced down more enemies than anyone should have to put up with. These enemies extended from the human to the monstrous. From the mundane to the horrific and in every single case Harry Potter and his kin emerged the victors. In all cases, that is, save one: The Media.

Yes, the Media. Both human and monstrous; both mundane and horrific, but ever relentless. Ever relentless.

(I can tell you from personal experience that they are extremely annoying, particularly their paparazzi. They simply don't leave me alone. Why, I happen to know that there is one bloke who has been living in my wife's gardenia bush for ages. Shame no one will believe me.)

For the first few years of his life Albus was sheltered by his parents from the ravenous onslaught of the scribbling vultures, but once he was sent off to school he became fair game. (James on the other hand, due to his more...boyish nature, had his 'exploits' relayed several times on the front pages before ever setting foot in Hogwarts. He was a real handful. (That's code for 'prat'. (No offence, James.)))

I have included several particularly revealing excerpts from the Daily Prophet and other sources in this manuscript in order to give you an inkling into what was going on in the (so-called) minds of those outside the insulated Hogwarts world.

(You may notice a rather dramatic drop in the quality of the prose. Please do your best to ignor it. (Those of you who don't notice any difference should check in to st. Mungo's for a full psychiatric exam and avoid any heavy spellwork until you do.)

**MUSINGS WITH MURIEL**

_(Display a photo of a rather homely woman trying to look young and failing.)_

**A LIGHTNING BOLT OFF THE OLD BLOCK?**

Well, my dear readers, here we are starting another year at Hogwarts, sending our children off with a mixture of happiness and sadness. (Maybe with a bit more happiness, eh ladies?) But now the question arises: Which famous son of which famous wizard is currently in the throes of rebeliousness?

That's right, dear reader. It is none other than the long suffering Harry Potter and his eleven year old son, Albus Potter.

I'm sure no one needs any reminder as to how much poor Harry has had to endure in his sad past. Being forced to grow up in a house of Muggles for one thing. It is simply dreadful to think of it. I have it on good authority that muggles smell something awful.

Fighting He-Who-Must-Be-Named preoccupied him for most of his school years. (And I suppose the loss of several family members probably played a role in his misery as well.)

Losing the love of his life, a certain Ms. Granger, to his best friend, Donald Weasley was probably the darkest hour of his life. Yet he persevered and finally settled down, at last finding peace and happiness.

Or so he thought.

It is not yet over for the noble hero. His second son, Albus, 11, apparently getting a head start on his teenage years, has decided to pit himself against his father and his values. Sources report that the lad has insisted on breaking with his family's tradition and demanded he be placed in the House of Slytherin where he has been welcomed with open arms.

I'm sure it need not be pointed out that Slytherin consistently produced all manner of Dark Wizards and Witches through the ages. This includes the more recent Dark Wizard, You-Know-Who. Albus, though, remains unperturbed by this grim reputation and is said to feel right at home in his new setting.

While this is enough to raies a few eyebrows it does not stop there. Oh no, dear reader, it gets a whole lot more disturbing.

According to a special source within Hogwarts, young Albus has grown tired of living in his father's legendary shadow and wishes to distance himself from his father in every way.

What this reporter wants to know is: How far does this 'distancing' go?

Harry Potter stood against the Dark Lord. Harry Potter stood along side the Ministry of Magic. Harry Potter was apposed to muggle-hunting. Harry Potter was apposed to kicking small kittens for the fun of it.

The question we must all ask is does Albus share these values? How far will he go in order to pit himself against 'the old man'? What values will he adopt in his quest to set himself apart? And will it be reversable? How far will he go?

Other sources suggest that young Albus is not actually adopting the characteristics of a Slytherin but is merely acting out in the most dramatic manner. "Chances are we'll see him sporting some elegantly slashed trousers in the near future." The source added. "Maybe even a pierced ear or three."

But is this all really just foolish adolescence expressing itself in the most immature manner or something...a bit deeper?

I sure don't want to find out (_wink, wink_). For now, all we, Harry's well-wishers, can do is watch anxiously and hope Harry's wife does a better job with his other children. But only time will tell.

In the meantime, may all your prophesies be good ones. And that is todays Musing with Muriel.

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><p>yea, i know. not much happens in this one. we get back to the story in ch. 13<p> 


	13. Chapter 13 Of Bunnies and Bonnets

First off, I'd like to thank all my imaginary characters for putting up with me.

Second, I'd like to thank all my imaginary readers for putting up with my imaginary characters.

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><p><span>CHAPTER THIRTEEN<span>

OF BONNETS AND BUNNIES

Now, I know what you are all thinking: You really and truly want to dip into the brilliant wellsprings of the famous Silvanus Zed but you are held back. You want to fill your empty head with the magical words of his swishing quill, yet you hesitate. And I know the reason why.

This is the dreaded chapter THIRTEEN. Thirteen: The unluckiest of the numbers. The source for so much bad luck. Who knows what it can cause? Perhaps you will receive a paper cut upon reading this chapter. Perhaps the depths of the contents will give you a migraine. (Perhaps the ramblings of the Author will make you nauseated. - Comment from the editor) But you have no need to fear for two reasons:

1] I have placed a number of counter jinxes and protective spells on this chapter for the expressed purpose of protecting the reader.

2] Surely my work is worth a bit of bad luck and suffering in any event.

So that's taken care of. Off you go.

* * *

><p>The next few days gloomed dark and dreary as the months of Fall rolled in. The sky was a perpetual shade of grey and the trees took on a more skeletal appearance as they shed their colorful plumage. Rain routinely formed in the ever-present fog that gripped the grounds and a chill began to seep out of every stone within castle.<p>

In complete contrast to our environment, Albus was the happiest I had seen him all year. He hummed as he worked and he even made a joke while changing his spider-infested sheets. (It wasn't a very funny joke so I won't repeat it.) In fact, his disposition was so effervescent and rosy it was down right nauseating. And the only one who could cause his disposition to be so rosy was his cousin, Rose.

Both Albus and Rose were so relieved to be back on good terms that they casually shrugged off anything that was likely to dispel their cheer, including the account Agnes and I breathlessly gave over the next morning at breakfast about the midnight meeting in the library.

"Oh, it was just some daft club acting all melodramatic." Rose snorted through a mouthful of fried salamander eggs. Once again, we had all committed a major break in protocol by our seating arrangement, this time joining Agnes at the end of the Hufflepuff table where she introduced us to some of her House friends. They were very cordial to Rose but seemed slightly wary of Albus and me. (No doubt, intimidated by our supreme excellence. We Slytherins tend to have that effect on others.) "Say, Agnes, that reminds me," Rose began. "What were you doing in the library at that hour, anyway?"

Agnes flushed guiltily. "I, er, fancied a read."

"At midnight?"

"Yea, I always read when I have insomnia."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "What about you, Zed?"

"Oh, that doesn't work for me; I prefer warm milk."

"No, I meant, what were _you_ doing there?"

"I, er, also fancied a read." (I'm pretty quick on my feet. Only have to hear it once.)

"But we're getting off subject." Agnes changed tack aggressively. "The point is: We overheard a group of fifth-year Slytherins talking about Albus and saying they're getting orders from a new Dark Lord."

"I thought you said they never actually mentioned Albus' name explicitly." Rose pointed out. "They could have been talking about anyone."

I cleared my throat. "Well, from the context, it's not likely they were on about anyone other than Albus-"

"Right!" Agnes jumped in. "That's right, it's like Sed says -"

"Zed,"

"Whatever. Albus was the only one they could have discusd in their nefarious schemes."

"But according to you, those guys were ordered to leave me alone." Albus said, spreading some more octopus jam on his toast. "That doesn't sound very 'nefarious' to me."

"Well it sounded very nefarious." Agnes stated flatly. "Especially when it's an 'order' coming from a 'Dark Lord'."

"I dunno," Rose wrinkled her nose to display her skepticism. "Just because some idiot thinks its cool to give himself a nickname doesn't mean we should be-"

"What, do you have to have an answer for everything?" Agnes exclaimed in exasperation. Albus and Rose exchanged bemused looks and Albus decided it was time for a change of subject. "Hey, she's showing some signs of life!" he said, indicating the Head Table. We all swiveled in our seats and immediately spotted who he was referring to.

Ever since the commencement dinner and the Sorting, a smartly dressed witch with a thick strand of pearls had been present at the far end of the Head Table; always off by herself, completely ignored by the rest of the staff, and never doing anything more than take in her surroundings with polite interest. At first students expected some sort of formal introduction or informal explanation, but neither were forthcoming and the witch with the pearls slowly melted into the background, becoming less prominent than a tapestry featuring Flobberworms. (I don't know what artist painted that travesty mounted on the third floor corridor but he or she obviously had a myriad of issues to work out.) But today it was different.

She was highly animated and held a voluminous notepad that she was scribbling feverishly into with a green quill. Every time her darting eyes alighted upon someone she excitedly turned back to her writing and filled out a couple more pages in her notebook. She seemed to have something noteworthy to say about everyone in the Great Hall.

"Now that's kind of disturbing." Albus muttered as the witch turned her attention to Cuthbert Carty at the Gryfindor table. "What do you recon this is all about?"

"Maybe she's a reporter doing a story on the school." Rose offered. The witch was now focused on Angeline Boot at the Ravenclaw table.

Agnes shook her head. "I can't imagine McGonagall putting up with the press all this time."

The witch was now staring intently at hairy Borris Barrinsky over by Hufflepuff. (Which is creepy in itself. Borris, that is, not the staring.) Her gaze slid over to the Slytherin table and her quill became a blur as she took in pointy faced Allison Smyth.

"What do you think, Silvanus?" Rose asked.

The neck of the witch swiveled in its choker of thick pearls and her eyes fell upon our little group where they glinted suddenly with a bemused curiousity. I gulped. "I think...I think I've had enough breakfast. Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>We were early at arriving at our first class of the day, which happened to be Care of Magical Creatures. In general, I greatly disliked this particular course not merely because it often took place outside where it was cold and blustery and the dirt ruined my good robes, but because I had a strange aversion to coming face to face with assorted carnivorous beast with attitude problems. Call me crazy but that's just my way. Albus and Rose, on the other hand, constantly looked forward to this class, but only for one reason. A very <em>big<em> reason.

"Albus! Rosey!" The giant Hagrid beamed with pleasure. "I was beginnin' ter think I'd have t'put yer in detention ter talk with yeh."

The cousins grinned. "We've been very busy, Hagrid." Albus said.

"But we'll definitely stop by for tea this weekend." Rose assured him, slightly anxious.

The great bearded professor waved a giant hand. "Ahh, I was on'y foolin'. But I'll hold yeh ter that promise I will, missy." He looked around, genially. "An' how are you, Ms. Murehead?"

"Just fine, Professor."

"An' you,...er..."

"Zed,"

"Right, right, how yeh been?"

"Actually, I've had something of a stomach ache-"

"Ah, have I got a great lesson planned for you lot today." Hagrid rubbed his hands together as he interrupted me. (Which really wasn't fair. I had concocted a brand new illness for that day in order to be excused.) "Really hard to get a hold of, the little critters. But more'n worth it, I can tell yeh."

"What is it, Professor?" Agnes asked with genuine interest.

"Yeh'll find out soon enough. In the mean time, y'better hurry along now to your Hufflepuff class."

Agnes gave a quick glance at a muggle contraption she had strapped to her wrist, let out a small yelp, and rushed off through the brush. As she made her way back to the castle she passed the oncoming groups of Gryfindors and Slytherins trudging (reluctantly) to class.

"Wonder where Ms. Prissy Pants is off to in such a hurry." I heard Damon Devon say as they approached.

"I don't know, but it sure is funny to watch her run." Allison Smyth giggled. "She waddles back and forth like a squat little penguin." This comment elicited appreciative titter that only increased when Ricardo Ratsin regaled us with his own impersonation of the girl's gait.

"Oh, that's real mature!" Rose fumed, cheeks burning red with anger.

"You leave Agnes alone!" Albus barked.

Allison squealed with delight. "Ooohh! Potter's got a girlfriend! And here we thought you were in love with your cousin."

"CLASS IN SESSION!" Hagrid's voice boomed through the woods, scaring a flock of sparrows out of a tree (and causing a few of them to drop in faint.) I could tell he was mad and was itching to dock points but was restraining himself in the interest of professionalism. The class had gone very quiet and everybody waited as Hagrid took a few deep breaths to collect himself.

After a moment he reached behind a tree and pulled into view a tremendous hemp sack. We all eyed the sack apprehensively, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of menacing growls and gnashing teeth to echo from within. None came. The sack was still and silent. (I, however, was not to be reasurred by the apparent docile nature of the sack. Who knew what manner of infernal beast lay within? (Probably one that loved to snack on little brilliant, extremely handsome boys who's last name begins with a 'zed'. (What makes this scenario worse is that all the dim wits in my class would be safe.)))

"Alrigh'," Hagrid held the sack but made no move to open it. "Who c'n tell me wha' a 'Bersheys Bar' is?"

Two hands shot into the air. They belonged to Rose and Flavious Flannel. Hagrid nodded to Rose who promptly spouted a verbatim paragraph from the textbook. "The Bersheys Bar is the strongest and most potent form of chocolate on earth."

"Spot on. Five points for Gryffindor. Now, who can tell me wha' this chocolate is used fer?"

The same two hands flew up but Rose was a hair faster. "It's used in the most critical of dementor attacks when the person's soul is about to be lost."

"Right again," Hagrid beamed. "Tha's another five points to Gryffindor."

It gave me immense pleasure to see the bespectacled Flannel look so put out. I was just deciding that Care of Magical Creatures was not all bad when Hagrid rounded on me. "Mr. Zed, you're lookin' right smug. So tell me: Where do Bersheys Chocolate come from?"

Ouch. That was a tough one. While trying to ignore the flailing outstretched hands of Rose and Flavious, I racked my brains. At first I wanted to say 'Switzerland' but that didn't seem right. (Almost as silly as the Swiss making cheese or knives. Just silly.) My grey matter strained; the logic came forth and there it was. I had the answer.

I cleared my throat. "Where does Bersheys chocolate come from? Why, the answer is obvious." I put on as nonchalant a voice as I could muster. (The effect was very nice.) "It comes from the Toothfairy."

The decrepit Philistines around me broke into derisive laughter and even Hagrid looked deeply amused. "The Toothfairy," he guffawed. "How d'you figure that?"

"It's simple," I said, somewhat defensively. "This fairy wants to collect teeth and in order to speed the process up she provides tantalizing sweets to the kiddies so they'll more quickly develope cavities and lose their ivories." (To this day Hagrid is convinced I was making a marvelous joke. I maintain that my logic is sound and I do not have a sense of humor.)

Hagrid wiped away a tear of mirth. "Tha's a good one, that is. But I happen to know the toothfairy's a mad ol' witch out in Yorkshire who thinks she can use teeth as the core of a wand. An' she hates chocolate." Hagrid then heaved the hemp bag in front of him and flipped it open. "I think it would be best if I jus' showed you lot."

His giant hands overturned the sack and the contents came pouring out. Both the Gryffindors and Slytherins jumped back in shock as the sack emptied. Its contents were of all shapes and sizes and colors. Some were resplendent and some plain. Some were very old while others were gleaming new.

They were hats.

A very big pile of hats; the largest assortment I had ever seen. There were top hats and ski caps, derby, bowlers, and beanies (and I think there was even one yarlmuka). "There we are," Hagrid said, sounding satisfied.

Edward Whyn whistled amazedly. "Professor, where did you get so many?"

Hagrid shrugged. "From some mad hatter I was having tea with in the Hog's Head."

"You're teaching us how to take care of _hats_?" Scorpious Malfoy sneered, fingering a large ten gallon. "And what on earth does this have to do with chocolate? Honestly, do we really have to put up with this non-sense?"

"It has everything t'do with chocolate," Hagrid said. "And if yeh find this subject too boring we just might go and learn how to shake hands with another magical creature. Like say: The giant squid."

As if to protect his hands from the sea monster, Malfoy immediately hid his palms behind his back and fell silent.

"Right then," Hagrid made a sweeping gesture. "Everyone help yourselves to a hat."

There was a mad rush for the pile of headwear as everyone scrambled for their favorite style and color. Albus managed to get hold of a blue cap with the white letters 'N' and 'Y' overlapping each other. (It was probably some muggle gang sign.) Rose procured a 1930's fedora while I (,being more adroit with matters of the mind then mob control,) was left with a pink frilly bonnet. It really was not that bad and I managed to look quite dashing in this apparel. I'll admit, few could pull it off, (much less put it on) but then, few had my grace and looks.

Obviously, not everyone in my class shared my opinion and I was assailed by a whole range of cat calls.

"Oy, Zed! You look put out. Got a bee in your bonnet?"

"He does look ravishing,"

"Matches his eyes so nicely,"

(It was the usual stinging, rapier wit I had come to expect from my comrades. Yes indeed, it is lonely here at the top.)

Albus was smirking and Rose had turned red holding back her giggles. Even Hagrid had to fight back a smile but he pressed on with the lesson. "There's no need to put on the hats," he said. "Yeh just have to stick your hands into it and pull out what you feel inside. And do it gently, mind!"

I stuck my hand into the hat and felt it encounter nothing but empty space. Where the inside wall of the hat should have been there was nothing. My hand disappeared further and further into its depths until my arm was nearly swallowed up til my shoulder. I looked around and saw that everyone was having the same bizarre experience with one hand almost completely eaten by their hat.

And then, just as my arm was fully extended, I felt it. It was soft and fluffy and warm. I grasped it gently but firmly and yanked it out and I found that, like all great (and chliched) magicians, I had pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

In a moment, every one in the class held their own twitching, slightly surprised rabbit.

Hagrid seemed very pleased with himself. "Excellent, who can tell me what these are?" he asked.

"They're rabbits!" Allison Smyth piped up, cuddling her own jet black bundle. "They're adorably cute little bunny rabbits."

"Er, they are cute, I suppose," Hagrid conceded. (It didn't sound like this impressed him overly.) "But they're actually not rabbits." Rose's brow crinkled in confusion. "They're Easter Bunnies." Her expression cleared and her lips silently formed the word 'Oh'. "Yea, Easter Bunnies. And they make the best ruddy chocolate the worlds ever seen. Granted, they're shaped like eggs but then yeh can't have everything in life. So then, who can tell me what these critters like to eat?"

It turned out that the 'critters' subsisted on an assortment of jelly bean but they truly preferred/ Berni Botts Every Flavor. Hagrid explained that they had to be given a balanced meal of protein and complex carbs flavored beans on a regular basis if they were to produce the highest quality chocolate. "Some broccoli and salmon flavored would do the trick," he supplied as an example. "But yeh don't want to be given 'em too much 'a these toffee flavored ones. After all, sweets would ruin their appetite."

The rest of the lesson was spent on the bunnies hygiene (I'll spare you that little bit,) and we were assigned some reading homework and dismissed. As we trudged on back to the castle I listened with half an ear to Albus and Rose discussing the relative qualities of the bunnies and how wonderful it would be to have them as pets. (For myself, I could never abide those creatures in my house as I refuse to share my jellybeans.) We neared the castle and I noticed a figure lurking in the shadow of a grey tree. Avery was leaning casually against the dying birch and absent mindedly fiddling with a miniature model broom stick, all the while glaring with open malice at my friend.

"Hey, look at this!" There was a sign posted to the stone wall of the castle that had drawn Albus' attention, along with several other first years.

"What does it say?" Rose asked.

"'First Years broomstick practice to begin tomorrow on the Quidditch pitch with Professor Kahn at noon.'" Albus read aloud. "Oh, wow! That's brilliant!"

Rose looked less excited. "I dunno, Albus," she said, sounding slightly apprehensive. "I don't think I fancy the whole 'flying on broomstick' thing. It sounds awful dangerous."

"Aw, you're just nervous that there might be one subject you might not get an 'Outstanding' in." Albus shrugged. "You'll see. It'll be loads of fun. It's perfectly safe."

And off in the distance, Avery pointed his wand at the miniature broom and set it aflame.

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><p>I had actually planned on putting the Quidditch lesson in this chapter but it got too long so I split it up. Next one is already in progress and'll be out soon.<p>

GO YANKEES!


	14. Chapter 14 Serpent with a Lion's Heart

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE SERPENT WITH A LION'S HEART

I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you when I say that I am exceedingly adept at all forms of wizardry be it spell work, enchantments, Occlumency, potion brewing, (that can give toil and trouble to some), Transfiguration, or Zedology. (This is a brand new branch of magic that I've innovated that, until recently, has recieved next to zero attention. It involves the correct methods of couldron cleaning. Expect to see it in the next print of your text books.)

However, seeing as I am an imperfect human, (yes, it's true, despite all the evidence to the contrary, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.) there are...one or two...obscure areas of magic where I did not exactly shine. And there was one area in particular where Albus actually outshone me. I was not overly vexed by this occurrence/ because his whole talent centered around an activity that is so silly and...stupid and...not at all cool. It is an area of magic that can at best be described as a colossal/ waste of time and at worst it can be compared to a troll debating society.

I am speaking, of course, about Quidditch.

Indeed, there are few activities less ridiculous than the so-called 'sport' that involves the stradling of a piece of wood and zooming about in pursuit of flying balls while fleeing from other flying balls that pursue you with murderous intent. Yet, this pointless endevour/ is the source of much interest in the wizarding community to the point that little boys trade cards of their favorite players and grown men place bets on the outcomes of games that have not yet been played. (All of them have the same story: "I've got a bookie who is the third cousin of the great little-known Seer Bertha Trelawney who garantees this is a sure thing! Oh? You've never heard of her? Well, she likes to keep a low profile. You should get in on this action too. How much should I put you down for?")

Yes, this is Quiddich. The lowest denomination of magic that more resembles the popular muggle gladiator game (commonly referred to as 'Baxset Ball') then the fine art of sorcery.

(I must point out to all of you who have taken offense at the above paragraph that the missus agrees whole-heartedly with me on this issue. And she is always right. I mean to say, she is _always_ right. (She told me so herself.))

I myself hold no interest in this barbaric display, and I wouldn't even if I didn't completely suck at the sport.

Albus, on the other hand, had a real passion for Quidditch (poor boy had to have _something_, I suppose.) as we shall see shortly...

* * *

><p>A haze of tension held sway over the group of first year Slytherins that day, either from barely contained excitement at the idea of immitating their favorite Quidditch players (mainly the boys) or from stark terror at the prospect of taking leave of dear terra firma (mostly the girls). On a completely unrelated note, I personally suffered a sleepness night, and when I did nod off I had four dreams involving falling from a great height and waking up the second before impact. (No idea what these dreams meant.)<p>

And so at breakfast I found that the roles of the two cousins had been starkly reversed. While Albus yammered on excitedly about all the moves and aerial stunts he was planning Rose just glumly stared at her untouched portion of birpsalot and looked politely queezy.

"I can't wait to try out the 'kronsky feint'," Albus was saying between mouthfuls of oatmeal. "I've seen Wood do it plenty of times and I think I have down pretty well."

"Wood?" I asked. "That some sort of broom?"

"No, he's Oliver Wood. He plays for Puddlemere United. How can you not know that?"

"I'm actually more of a gobstones fan myself."

"Beg pardon?"

"Nevermind. So, how about Victor Krum? I hear he's pretty good."

Albus eyed me with pity. "Victor Krum hasn't played in decades." he said. "You really don't follow Quidditch, do you?"

I shrugged. "I guess not. Why hasn't he played? I mean, even _I_ have heard how brilliant he was."

"If I remember," Albus said, "he went all love-sick over some girl."

"Really?"

"Yea, completely bonkers for her. But she wouldn't have him. His game started to suffer and he eventually retired."

I whistled. "She must have been something. Who was she?"

"The Quibbler never said, did they Rose?"

Rose shook her head but kept her lips tightly sealed. She looked like if she opened her mouth she would be sick all over the table.

"Wow," I said, studying Rose's complexion. "You look awful. You need something to settle your stomach." I handed her a steaming bowl. "Here, have some boiled dragon oysters." That did it! Rose clamped a hand over her mouth, jumped away from the table and raced to the girls lavatory. (I know, I know, that was really mean but I couldn't hepl myself. (Aint I a stinker?))

Albus watched her leave with mild concern. "I hope she's O.K."

"She'll be fine," I reasurred him. "What do we have before flying lessons?"

"Charms with Hufflepuff,"

"Excuse me, are you Mister Malfoy?" The question was asked by an adult female voice I did not recognize. (This was odd as there were only a handful of adults on premiss. That, and I have the _most_ perfect memory.)

Over at the other end of the table everyone watched the converstatin that was unfolding. Malfoy, a slightly nervous expression on his face, was looking up at a smartly dressed witch wearing a thick strand of pearls. Her eyes and mouth formed the most patronizing smile one could muster without tearing their face in two.

Malfoy could have just responded with a simple 'yes' or 'no', but he opted to be safe instead. "Why? What do you want?" he asked rather rudely. "It's a lie, d'you hear? Dawlish is lying! I wasn't anywhere near the library yesterday and anyways I don't know that curse!"

"There, there, now," the witch's inane smile only widened. "I just want to talk, is all. Just talk. No need to get all in a tither." She bent lower and I heard her whisper in his ear. "I would very much like the pleasure of your company, dear. In my office, right now."

Malfoy paled slightly. (Hard to tell with an anemic bloke like him, but I have an eye for such things.) "Look," he sputtered, "you obviously don't make much inso far as salary goes. Just wait a day and my father will see to it-"

"Come along, dear." I could swear, her smile was still growing. "We simply must have a talk."

Looking definitely put out, Draco slid out from his bench and slouched out of the Great Hall in the wake of the smartly dressed witch.

Everyone at the table took careful notice of their departure and then broke out into a gaggle of whispers. I turned to see Albus had one incredulous eyebrow raised high on his forehead. "What was _that_ about?" he asked.

"Who knows?" I said. "But I'd bet anything that Dawlish isn't lying and Malfoy does know that curse."

"You think he's being punished for something?"

"Very possible," I said, seriously. "Hopefully it'll be something fatal."

Albus chuckled as he drained the last of his beat juice and gathered up his bookbag. "Come on, then. We don't want to be late for charms today."

"Why? What's today?" I asked, hurrying after him.

"Flitwick said he'd be looking for volunteers to demonstrate his Anti-procastination spell."

"Ah," I sped up slightly.

We were halfway to our destination when we were suddenly stopped by a blood draining screech that tore through the corridor like nails on a chalk board. My hair stood on end and my skin turned to goose flesh as the echoes of the horrible wail swept over us. I saw that Albus had already whipped out his wand and was looking furtively around the empty hall. I followed suite and slowly drew out my own elegant wand, completely prepared to stolidly back up Albus while he bravely faced down the danger. (I lagged behind, naturally, in order to, uh, assess the situation. Yes, that's it. To assess the situation.)

"Where did it come from?" Albus whispered, his face discenibly paler. In answer I pointed my wand at an adjoining classroom.

The next moment the door of the classroom burst open to the fury of a small balding man whose few strands of hair stood almost upright around his scalp. "Who did it, then?" the reedy voice of Professor Tinfoil screamed. "Whose bloody idea was it?" The professor's bulging eyes alighted upon Albus and me and our drawn wands. "Oh, ho!" he trumpeted. "So you little welps think it's funny, do you?"

"Sir-?"

"Turning all my quills into distgusting, slithering serpents! As though it wasn't bad enough you people have not yet discovered the ball-point pen! But then to suddenly have those creatures...all over my desk...horrible..." The professor's rant started to wain as he became overcome with shivers.

"Sir," Albus ventured. "It wasn't us. We weren't even-"

"What are your Houses?" Professor Tinfoil snapped.

"S-Slytherin,"

"Figures," the professor muttered, darkly. "And all because I'm a...'moogel'. Well I shan't stand for it, I tell you. I shan't! Ten points from Slytherin!" He said, and deftly whipped out a notebook and quill and began painstakingly recording our punishment. "Yessir," he muttered with open satisfaction. "I've got quite a list of docked points from your House already. When I get one of the magical teachers to read this notebook there won't be a single green stone left in your overgrown hourglaarrggh !"

I can only assume he meant to say 'hourglass', referring, of course, to the four giant hourglasses that recorded the gains and losses of each House in real time. It certainly makes sense from the context of his words. Anyways, I don't think I'm wrong. (I'm almost never wrong.) Although, stranger things have happened.

Oh, yes. You are no doubt wondering why the poor professor suddenly renewed his screaming. No doubt it had something to do with his quill that had suddenly taken upon itself to change into a writhing, glistening snake. The professor flung the reptile from himself in a panic, spun upon his heels and tore down the corridor. "The Headmistress will hear of this! Absolutely the last straw! Confound it, this place is mental! Never in all my life..."

His cries slowly died away as he turned a corner and disappeared from view. Albus stared after him incredulously. "What do you suppose _that_ was about?" he asked.

I sighed. "The whole encounter suggests two things."

"Go on, Silv."

"Obviously, Avery and his cronies have already begun their 'lesson' on the muggle professor."

"Or it could just be some dumb practical joker." Albus shrugged. "Take it from me; I have an uncle with a shop in Diagon Alley who would think that was brilliant."

My face showed my utter disbelief. "Really? Your family would do something like that? I don't think so."

"Actually, I hear he did much worse. Like this one time he tricked some fat muggle boy into getting his tongue engorged."

"No! Really? Well, then maybe your right."

"Course I'm right." Albus said, confidently. "There's no 'Dark Lord' giving orders to torment muggle teachers. Now, what's the second thing our 'encounter' suggested?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. That one is easy. It suggests that Flitwick has at least two volunteers for his Anti-Procrastination charm."

Albus looked at me for a moment and then we both dashed off for class.

The little charms teacher was less than pleased with our late arrival and demonstrated his charm on us several times. (I _did _say I'm almost never wrong.) He then set the class to practicing the wand movements and Albus made his way to where Agnes was sitting with her Hufflepuff friend, Jane Doe. (A rather bland girl with little to no personality or charm. (Quite ironic that she was taking that particular class, actually.))

"Why were you guys late?" Agnes asked after we had paired off. Albus began telling her of our experience with the muggle professor while I set to work at trying to charm 'Ms. Peronality' when the door to the classroom swung open and Professor Flitwick started waving his wand in anticipation of his new volunteer.

Scorpius Malfoy swept confidently into the room and silently deposited a note on the professor's desk. The professor read it in some confusion for a minute and then dissapointedly waved Malfoy to his seat.

Wearing an expression that denoted his utmost importance, (which didn't fool me in the least), Malfoy was greeted by the inquisitive stares of Ratsin, Devon and Smythe. "Who was that lady?" Allison Smythe asked. "What did she want?"

"Yea, you're not in trouble are, Scorpius?" Damon Devon's voice sounded almost hopeful.

Malfoy laughed supercilously. "Of course not," he said. (Damon promptly lost interest.) "Her name is Ms. Hortense Clapsaddle and she happens to be a very important witch working in the Ministry of Magic."

"Oooohhh," Allison was deeply impressed. "But what is it that she wanted from you?"

"She happens to be on an extremely delicate secret mission for the Minister of Magic himself." Malfoy was speaking in a carrying whisper to ensure those around him would pick up every word. (As though _I_ would be interested in his sorrid affairs.) "I cannot say any more," he sniffed. "Obviously a family as important and high standing as mine has clearance in such matters but I am not at liberty to discuss it with the common folk."

"Oh, don't be like that, Scorpius," Devon whined. "Look, if these two aren't important enough we can send them away and then you can tell me."

Allison threw Damon a murderous stare and Ratsin looked around to see who he was talking about.

"Oh, very well," Malfoy sighed with pained resignation. "I can give you lot a hint. It is a mission that involves the very safety of all magic-kind." His audience drew in a collective gasp. "Ms. Clapsaddle believes that someone in Hogwarts poses a deadly threat to us all..."

He let his voice trail off climatically as his gaze rested purposefully upon a bewildered Albus.

Agnes rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>The sky held a dull balmy tinge that threatened immanent rain and the outside air was thick and wet and left the skin feeling sticky. However, none one of the first years gathered on the Quidditch pitch that afternoon noticed any of these factors whether from Gryffindor or Slytherin as they were either loudly proclaiming their (doubtful) flying expertise or desperately staring at the earth as if begging not to leave her sweet embrace.<p>

As usual, it fell to me to lift the dignity of all present to my standards. (This is a grave responsibility that I take most seriously as I tend to be the cause of people looking less dignified when when in my presence. (It's the least I can do for you less fortunate folks.))

Rose had exchanged her green palor for one that was starkly white and seemed not to hear any of the encouragement Albus was throwing at her. "You'll be brilliant," Albus was saying. "You're always brilliant at everything you try. And before you know it, you'll have flown and be done with it. It will be over before you know it. It will go so fast the next thing you know you'll be back on the ground. Am I right, Zed?"

"Oh, yes. People have been known to hit the ground really fast. Before you know it, it'll crash up at you."

Albus scowled. "Thanks alot, Zed," he said coldly.

"Anytime,"

"Awww, look who thinks he's going to fly!" a voice sang from the stands. We turned and saw that a small crowd had gathered in the stands that included the prefect Ursula Qualm, who sat stone still and radiated a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Beside her was Avery Hellix and his group of fifth year Slytherins who were spewing all sorts of jeers and cat-calls with James at the forefront, his hard eyes trained on Albus and his lips curled into an ugly sneer. "The little Slytherin is going to try and straddle a broom. Five Galleons says he rams the astronomy tower before the lesson is up!"

"Shut it, James!" Albus yelled back.

"Don't," Rose warned, but it was too late.

"Family trouble, Potter?" the voice of Scorpius Malfoy sounded almost indecently excited. "Or maybe you really can't tell a bloody tower from a goal hoop."

Ratsin and Devon snickered. Albus balled his fists. "Why don't you take a step closer and I'll show you just how good my aim is!"

"Ooohhhh," Allison Smythe wailed. "It's a fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

The chant was taken up by all present and steadily rose in volume and intesity. Albus squared his shoulders while Scorpius grinned at him sardonically. Rose was at a complete loss and seemed on the verge of tears as the chant of the students effectively drowned out her own pleading words to Albus. All around us the word pressed; 'FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT'

And then a thunderous roar tore through the chant and left an unnatural silence in its wake. Professor T'anin Khan had arrived.

The great reptile stalked onto the pitch with a cat-like grace and peered down at us imperiously. A collective gulp resounded from the first years as the waves of dissaproval rolled off the beast and eveyone braced themselves for another roar.

"Form a single-file line," the statement was low in volume but a harsh growl all the same. Everybody immideately shifted their position and quietly pushed and shoved and tripped over eachother and within moments was formed a row of first years.

The professor lumbered over to the far side of the queue where Flavious Flannel trembled openly. "Hold out your brooms." the professor boomed and hurried to obey.

Professor Khan then lowered his head until he was within a few inches of the bespectacled Flannel whose glasses fogged up as the dragon snorted and inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "I smell fear," he rumbled. "You will not fly today." Flavious Flannel looked deeply relieved and slowly lowered his broom. The dragon professor continued in this fashion down the queue, deeming some worthy of flight and most not yet ready as he smelled each student (except Windy, whom he gave a wide berth).

To her immense relief, Rose was also informed that she reaked of fear (which is far better than being told you simply reak. Trust me, I know.) and then he reached Albus...and stopped.

The dragon sniffed once and then again, as if uncertain that his sinuses were working properly. The black slits that forme the pupils in his gem-like eyes narrowed as he took in the young boy with the unkempt, dark hair. (I'm talking about Albus, by the way, if you were too slow to pick that up.) The Professor then let out a series of strange grunts from the bottem of his throat that I eventually realized were amused chuckles. "You are a foolish human, child," he said. Albus remained nonplussed. "Very foolish. Only the unwise fear nothing at all. You are no doubt in Gryffindor."

"No, Professor. I'm in Slytherin."

Professor Khan nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember now. You were the last to be sorted. You are very odd, young human; A serpent with a lion's heart. Tell me: Does your foolish courage match your ability?"

In answer, Albus immediately straddled his broom and rose smoothly several feat into the air where he hovered confidently at eye-level with the dragon as though this was as natural as walking.

The professor growled derisively, causing half the class to flinch. "This is not an ability!" he barked. "This is nothing!" The dragon unfolded his giant, spinely wings and said solemnly, "Fly, little fledgling. Fly!"

Albus heard the dragon inhale deeply and quickly pointed his broom upwards. The next second Albus had shot away from the ground like a bullet released from a pistol as the spot where he previously hovered was enfulfed by flame. The Professor's laughter boomed across the pitch as his mighty wings beat against the air. Then he was airborn and in close pursuit of Albus. "Take notes, class!" he roared, obviously incredibly pleased.

The class pointed and yelled in astonishment and I felt Rose tightly grip my hand while she kept her worried eyes locked on her cousin above her. Albus was barely managing to keep the tail of his broom out of the snapping jaws of the dragon who seemed to be more at home in the air than any of us were on the ground. His gleaming body writhed and twisted through the air as though swimming through water, countering Albus at every turn and every maneuver. And whenever an opening for escape seemed to open up the Professor would spew forth a blazing ball of fire to box him in.

The quickly became streaking dots in the sky moving faster and faster with billows of fire and smoke erupting all over the place...and then one fireball found it's mark. The flames burst against the tiny figure and blasted him off his broom. And with smoke trailing from his body, the tiny figure began to grow bigger and bigger as it made it's way to the hard earth.

All around me there were gasps and cries Rose's nails began to dig into my hand. Albus tumbled head over heel right towards us. Right above us. The features on his face became extremely clear.

And then a gnarled claw closed over his midsection and his fall was halted. The Professor flapped gently in the air for a moment and then deposited a pale Albus on the grass where Rose immediately ran to his side. (Leaving my hand quite numb, thank you very much.)

"Fear," Professor Khan said, "is the enemy of flight. All you fledglings will have to overcome your fears if you expect to travel the winds." He turned his attention to a heaving Albus and pointed a scaley claw. "That," he proclaimed, "is how one flies."

One of the Gryffindors began to clap and then another one. Before I knew it the whole of Gryffindor and Slytherin were cheering and whooping (besides for a few individuals in my own house who looked positively despondent that a funeral had been avoided.)

"What are you dumb prats cheering about?" a snide voice cut through the applause. James Potter was stamping up the Quidditch pitch looking particularly annoyed and spiteful. "You first years get impressed by anything, don't you?" he spat. "You call that flying? I'm a veteran Keeper on the Quidditch team! I'll show you how it's done!"

And before anyone could utter a word, he snatched the broom out of Rose's grasp, mounted it, and took off.

At first his flight was smooth and daring as he effortlessly performed a series of loops and flips, making certain we saw that he frequently used no hands. But his efforts slowly became disjointed and erratic. His broom began to quiver and jerk violently. James, who had been acting pointedly casual until then, suddenly grasped the shaking broom with both hands and I got a glimpse of his face; it was pinched into the utmost concentration. And Evelyn Edinson whispered what we all knew: "Something is wrong."

James was obviously wrestling with his broom that was buckling and lurching like an untamed pony.

"I had better see to this," the Professor said, spreading his wings.

But at that moment the broom's shaking stopped. It smoothly turned around and faced the ground. And then pelted towards us at break-neck speed. James' scream was mixed with the frantic cries of the first-years as he shot at us. I saw him jump from the broom. He hit the grass and rolled. And then I heard a stomach-turning squelch and a screech of agony.

I slowly turned around, trying hard to brace myself, and I almost threw up. There, pinned firmly to the ground, Rose lay, gasping and coughing up spurts of crimson, with a quivering broom protruding from her chest.

* * *

><p>Yeesh! A dark hour indeed for our heros. But worry not! I happen to like Rose and she'll be fine, if a bit shaken.<p>

Or will she...?


	15. Chapter 15 Vertical Lessons

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

VERTICAL LESSONS

_Loved ones are the source of all magical weakness and should be avoided at all costs._

_- Silvanus Zed_

_(Never quote above proverb within earshot of the Missus._

_- Silvanus Zed)_

Rose had stopped breathing by the time the Healer, Madam Snoddly, arrived on the Quidditch pitch. The students backed off a respectful distance from the impaled girl and squabbled to eachother in hushed voices.

"What is going on here?" the Healer's voice clipped in annoyance. "If there is a student who has been damaged why haven't they been brought up to the hospital wing-" Her voice trailed off as she cought sight of Rose laying in glistening scarlet grass.

Several feet away James was beside himself with grief. "I didn't mean it," he sobbed loudly, more to himself than anyone. "I don't know what happened, I would never... I didn't mean to... it wasn't my fault...I didn't mean to..."

Albus just stared at his cousin numbly, as though he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. Almost as if he was trying to see through to the punchline of a badly delivered joke.

"We did not feel it wise to remove the broom," the soft growl of Professor Kahn addressed Madam Snoddly. "We feared at this point it was all that was keeping the wound closed."

"Yes," Madam Snoddly said vaguely. "Very wise. Keep the wound closed," She simply stared absently for a moment before returning to her irate tone. "But why wasn't she brought up, broom and all? Honestly, sometimes I feel most here think with their wands in place of their heads. I certainly would not have minded to see a broom enter the hospital wing. Goodness knows, the place hasn't been swept in a good few centuries-"

"The girl is pinned to the ground!" Professor Kahn cut through her rant. "Those were excellent questions, Madam, but perhaps we can save the rest for a less urgent time?"

"Oh," Madam Snoddly's face returned to a blank expression. "She's...ah...pinned, you say? To the ground? Dear me, we didn't cover this sort of thing... in Healer college,"

"Wait, what are you saying?" Albus demanded, an edge of panic rising in his voice. "You're going to help her, aren't you?"

"Never you mind, young man," the Healer clipped. "Step back now, this doesn't concern you,"

Albus' green eyes flashed with anger and his wand let out a spark. He opened his mouth to speak but the Professor beat him to it.

"There must be some way of getting her to the Hospital Wing without harming her," the dragon persisted.

The young Healer nodded but said nothing, clearly off her footing and out of her depths. "Yes," she nodded knowingly. "I'm sure there is some way. You know, my class may have covered this the one day I was sick. Wouldn't you know it. Of all things..." Her voice trailed off weakly though she continued to nod her head importantly.

Professor Kahn sighed. "You there!" he barked. I looked up in some surprise. "Yes, you! Ted, or Red or whatever! Remove your shoe at once!"

I must admit, I was so unpreprared for that demand that I was actually rendered speechless for several moments. (An occurrence which doesn't happen as often as most people would like, I assure you.)

A string of flame streamed from the nostrils of the dragon, conveying his impatience. "At once, boy! At once!"

I quickly lifted my left foot and hopped about while I yanked off my muddy trainer.

"Place it next to the girl," the Professor ordered, and I did as he said. He then turned to the Healer (who was now rubbing her chin impressively in addition to her nodding) and he coughed roughly. "Madam, I do not have a wand," he said. "If you would please do the honors."

The Healer regarded him quizzically for a time and then (one could almost see) the cogs move into place in her head. She brandished her wand at my trainer and uttered something that sounded like _Portus_. And then the shoe began to shimmer and the Healer and Rose together with the broom vanished leaving a gaping hole in the center of a red patch of grass.

* * *

><p>Albus' feet pounded the steps as he made his way up the dozen or so flights of stairs. His face was blank and a slight coating of perspiration enveloped his skin as he raced on ruthlessly toward the Hospital Wing.<p>

Panting heavily, I valiantly tried to keep up with him, weighing in my mind whether to point out we were skiving third period (and wisely discarding that idea.)

He burst thruough into the outer waiting room only to find far door barred magically. Letting out a growl of frustration he bagan feverishly pacing around the little room, drawing bemused looks and raised eyebrows from passerbys.

At length, he settled into a chair by the wall and began to study his feet with extreme intensity. I opened my mouth to comfort him and offer support but nothing came to mind. I could only stand by him to show him I was there. As the minutes scraped by and the dead silence thickened I almost wished Agnes was there.

Which is when she came in. (Goes to show you how obligingly _some_ wishes are granted. (Whereas in all my years of wishing I never got my pony.))

She was followed by a shaking James and an extremely cross looking Victoire. "What were you thinking?" she demanded, her red lips twisted into a lovely pout. "You could have killed her! And then she would have been seriously hurt. Showing off in that infantile fashion. I am thoroughly distgusted with you. Why, if you had hit her just a little higher and to the left-"

James began to retch in his mouth and he doubled over.

"Oh, what are you making a fuss about? You aren't hurt." She shook her silken locks away from her face and glanced Albus and me in the corner. Her large eyes fell on my shoeless foot and they narrowed in dissaproval. "Albus," she said, rather stiffly. "Don't worry. She'll be alright,"

Albus nodded but didn't look at her. Agnes sat down next to him and began to stroke his shoulder. "Well then," Victoire said, "I'd better send an owl to our parents and let them know...what happened." She glanced momentarily at the shiverring James before gliding out of the wing.

Agnes continued to stroke Albus' shoulder and then she leaned close to him. "Albus," she whispered. "She'll be alright,"

Albus nodded and graced her with a small smile.

The door to the Hospital Ward suddenly crashed open and Madam Snoddly rushed out. Her eyes were bulged and she looked on the verge of hysteria. "Young man," she snapped at James. "Go and fetch the Headmistress immediately! You hear me? Immediately!" Her voice became positively shrill as she spoke and several veins throbbed violently by her temples.

Thoroughly alarmed, James quickly jumped up to obey and raced from the room. Madam Snoddly turned back to the ward but found her path blocked by Albus. "Out of the way, boy!" she almost screached.

"What's happened?" Albus demanded.

"Nothing that concerns the likes of you," the Healer replied impatiently, and made to go around him.

"I want to see her,"

"Out of the question!"

"But she's my cousin. I want to-"

"It is out of the quesion!" She had maneuvered around him and opened the door.

"Just tell me if she's going to be alright!"

"THIS IS NOT A MATTER FOR CHILDREN!" And this time the Healer _did _screach as she slamed the door, sending the whole room into vibrations.

Albus stared at the closed door for a time with fury etched all over his face. And then I saw his jaw lock; his eyes narrowed and his breathing steadied and I knew, just knew, that he was about to do something very stupid.

"Albus, don't," I said.

"Don't what, Zed?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Whatever it is your about to do, don't." I replied in resigned voice. My pleas were a cursory effort at best as I had come to realize Albus was not conducive to genius advice once his jaw locked.

Agnes stared confusedly between the two of us as she watched our exchange. "Albus, what is this schlemeil talking about?"

Albus didn't respond at first but slowly turned to face us, and I saw that his decision had been made. "Agnes, Zed, come with me,"

"Albus, what's going on?"

"Actually, Albus, I think I'll stay right here. Much safer. Quite comfy really-"

"Zed, come with me!"

"Really, I'd rather avoid trouble if I can-"

"ZED!"

"Like I said, what are we waiting for?"

Albus nodded curtly and stormed from the room leaving Agnes and me to shrug at eachother in bemusement; Agnes looking partly excited and me with a tight feeling in my stomach. This was a bad idea. I had no clue what the idea was but I knew it was a bad one.

Nursing my reservations, we both took off in pursuit of Albus meeting the Headmistress in the hall. "You three, off to class with you, you maladjusted maladroits." she snapped at us, distactedly before rushing off to the hospital ward.

Albus kept up his steady pace, making his way into the spiral staircase that would take us down from the hospital wing. Agnes and I half jogged to keep up, our foot-falls echoing loudly off the smooth stone.

Abruptly, Albus halted beneath a window, causing me to lightly bump into Agnes. He turned to face us, his expression hard and business like. "Do either of you remember that charm we learned several weeks ago?" he asked. "That hovering charm?"

Agnes frowned. "Yea, I remember,"

"Do you remember how it's done?"

She shook her blond head ruefully. "No, it was a difficult lesson. An awful lot of swishing and flicking if you ask me."

"What about you, Zed?"

"Well, of course I remember that lesson,"

"And you can do it?"

"I am Silvanus Zed. The very question is preposterous."

"So...that's a 'yes'?"

"Yes!" (That question was even more preposterous.)

Albus nodded with relief, turned and began climbing through the open window. "Albus, don't!" Agnes yelled, but it was too late. Albus was already standing on the ledge just outside the window, the high altitude wind whipping through his black hair and robes with suprising force. "Albus, this is dangerous! Get down from there!" Agnes called to him, shrilly.

Albus seemed not to hear her as he peered upward at the wall behind him. "I see it," he called back. "The window to the hospital ward is just a few feet above me."

"Albus," I said, calmly, "I see where you're going with this, and I won't do it."

"Albus, get down this instant!" Agnes was beginning to let a little panic bubble up through her fury. "I'll call a teacher, just see if I won't."

"Zed, I'm going to get up there, one way or another, with or without you."

"Albus, there's more than one way to get into a hospital ward, and you may not be so lucky," I said warningly.

Albus just stared at me and waited. And I waited right back. "You know what?" he said at length. "I don't think you're capable."

"What?"

"I don't think you _can_ do it even if you wanted to. The great Silvanus Zed is stymied."

Agnes rolled her eyes and snorted derisively. "Oh, come on, Albus, I know this guy has a swelled head, but even _he_ isn't daft enough to fall for that. Now come on down before you break your fool neck- ZED, DON'T!"

But it was already done. My wand was out and with a swish and a flick the words _Wingardium Leviosa_ flew from my mouth with the most perfect pronunciation and cadence. (Stymied indeed,)

Instantly, Albus lifted jerkily off his thin ledge and began moving unsteadily upward, reminding me forcibly of a bird I once saw after it had nipped into a barrel of ale. (Although, in all fairness, it was only the fifth time I had practiced that spell, and I only dropped my training feather three times. (The fourth time I set it on fire.))

Maintaining the spell was a tad harder than I thought it would be, and I could feel the magical tension being applied to my wand as every second passed. I could feel Albus wobble even after he was lifted out of sight. I could hear him grunting right outside the window and I strained to keep him up, feeling the sweat running down my forehead. My hand began to shake and my wand became wet and slippery.

It was very much like balancing on one foot. If someone asked you to, you could do it confidently without really even trying...at first. But after about a minute the balance starts to slip away and before you know it you're flailing wildly and just moments away from falling. In my wand I could feel the magic ebbing and I ground my teeth as I clutched at it. (I knew if I dropped Albus he would be terribly cross, to say nothing of Agnes.)

I concentrated with all my might and my hand trembled violently, but as long as I held my focus all would be well.

Footsteps suddenly sounded behind me, my focus vanished, and the slippery wand slid smoothly from my grasp.

It hit the floor with a clatter and I saw the blood drain from Agnes' face. Half choking, half sobbing, she lunged at the window. "Albus?" she gasped.

The rushing wind answered her and I felt a coldness envelope me. My heart beat sounded loudly in my ears and I found myself counting them. One...two...three...four...and then a soft grunt.

I ran next to Agnes, stuck my head out the window and looked up. And there, hanging by a higher ledge, to my utmost relief, was Albus. Never before had been so relieved to see someone (even if the view was extremely unflattering.)

"M'okay," he grunted. We watched as he slowly pulled himself up and then sat panting on the windowsill. "I'm okay," he repeated. "I grabbed this ledge just in time."

"It's a good thing too," Agnes said, rather testily. "This daft yokel over here dropped his wand."

"I thought I heard someone behind me," I said, defensively.

"You did good, Zed," Albus reassured.

"You could have died!" Agnes bellowed. "And you'd have deserved it too. Of all the empty headed, wooly-brained idiot ideas I've ever heard of this is..." she seemed at a loss for words. (Which doesn't happen as often as _I_ would like.) "And just how do you plan on getting down?" she asked. "I know you're not dumb enough to rely on old butter-fingers here."

"There are some drapes by this window," Albus answered. "I can just climb down them."

"Well, send them down now!" Agnes demanded. "I'm coming up."

"Agnes, don't think there's any reason-"

"I am not letting you out of my sight, Albus Severus Potter, so let down those drapes!"

I heard a resigned sigh followed by some violent ripping and within moments a torn and knotted polka dotted rope lowered into view.

Agnes tested it with a few quick tugs and, having met with her satisfaction, she quickly launched herself outside and up the wall with surprising agility and grace. Within a moment she was perched comfortably (or reasonbly so) next to Albus on the Ward's ledge.

"We'll just nipp in for a second, see that Rose is safe, and get straight out," I heard her mutter.

"Alright," Albus agreed, and then I heard the creaking of a window being slowly opened.

The way Agnes had put it, the whole venture sounded safe enough, I began to reason to myself. And truth be told (though not very often and never out loud,) I actually _was_ worried about Rose. I thought back to the scene I had witnessed not an hour ago that now felt like forever, and I shuddered. There was so much blood.

I had made up my mind that I would see her (which just goes to show the influence a friend can have on an otherwise sane person). I clasped the drapes and peered outside. The whole of Hogwarts grounds spread out before me and I began to reel with dizziness. But with my resolve set, my heart stout and my eyes shut tight I pulled on the make-shift rope and made my ungainly way up. (As my talents rest firmly in my extraordinary mind I was not as adept in the art of scaling walls as the more ordinary folk. (I am forced to bring this point out in this narrative due to the (understandable) rumors that have been spread intimating that Silvanus Zed is just plain good at everything. The record is now straight.))

The wind buffetted me from side to side but I valiantly held firm in my struggle against the elements and gravity until my hands touched the course stone of the ledge.

Heaving slightly, I pulled myself up and came face to face with a very small and ugly gargoyle. "What, _another_ one?" he whined. "This is my perch, y'hear? Y'three go' no business muckin' about on _my_ perch!"

I saw that Albus and Agnes were still sitting by the window that was slightly ajar. Their faces were tense and they spoke not a word.

"Oy, what's this?" I said, "Why haven't you gone in-"

"SHHHH!" I gathered by the violent shushing I recieved from the both of them that they wanted me to be quiet. I acquiesced and strained my ears to pick up what they were listening to. (Quite difficult what with the gargoyle still mutterring and all.)

Faintly, a conversation was wafting from the hospital ward out through the open window. I heard the peevish noise of the Healer, madam Snoddly and the anxious tones of the Headmistress.

"Are you absolutely certain?" the Healer asked. "It couldn't possibly be some mistake?"

"See for yourself, Gladys," Mcgonagall answered. "You pulled it from the broom yourself. It can only mean one thing."

"But for something like this to happen in this place...with so many sweet innocent children...it doesn't seem natural,"

"Doesn't it?"

"Maybe there is another reason it was embedded in that broom. Maybe some experiment or hobby-"

"Gladys, there is only one reason someone places a vile of blood in something like this. There is Dark Magic being practiced on Hogwarts."

"Headmistress-!"

"Not being practiced very well, considering."

"What do you mean, Headmistress?"

"This was not entirely an accident. This object has been turned into an assassin and not a very smart one as it seems to have gotten confused." I heard the Healer gasp, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. "Ms. Weasely over here, as her luck would have it, happens to share something in common with that vile over there: They both share blood with Albus Potter."


	16. Chapter 16 The Darkness Illuminated

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE DARKNESS ILLUMINATED

Throughout my years at Hogwarts, I was privy to many important conversations from both the staff and the student body though there were few to which I was actually invited and so had to resort to eavesdropping. But I like to think that if they had known the extent of my myriad talents and capacities they would surely have sought my input.

Now, I don't want you running off with the idea that I was a nosey, busy-body. I would not run about, gathering and spreading gossip. Any of the sensitive information I picked up would remain a carefully guarded secret, not to be uttered to a soul. (But perhaps, published in a book.)

We didn't end up seeing Rose that dreadful day, and the conversation we had overheard did nothing to improve Albus' foul mood. "It wasn't an accident," he repeated for what must have been the hundredth time. "It wasn't an accident. Someone ordered that broom to kill."

The three of us had climbed down from the hospital wing window when the gargoyle started making an overly loud ruckus about his perch and we made our way straight for the library. Albus, who was already very tightly wound, was further infuriated to find out someone was behind his cousin's predicament and then doubly frustrated at not knowing against whom he was to direct his fury.

"I wasn't an accident," he muttered again, "and they almost killed Rose."

"Cheer up," I said, "It's not as bad as all that."

Albus and Agnes stared at me. "How so?" he asked.

"You have to keep in mind that Rose _really _was an accident. It was _you_ they were trying to kill."

They continued to stare at me. "What?" I sputtered.

"Zed, stop helping," Agnes said, sounding thoroughly disgusted. (disgusted about what, I can't imagine.) "But there is something I'd like to know," she suddenly sounded thoughtful. "From what I gathered, this is dark magic that needed to use blood. _Your _blood. Albus, where could they have gotten your blood?"

"Well, that's a daft question," I said. "They got his blood from him, obviously."

"I thought I told you to stop helping!"

"Well, you don't have to worry, because you're already beyond anyone's help."

"Keep talking and that overly large nose of yours is going to be permanently inverted."

"You touch me and I'll scream -"

"ENOUGH!" Albus bellowed in a hoarse whisper. We received a deluge of harsh shushing from those around us and our scintillating debate subsided into tense silence.

Agnes shot me one last dagger from her eyes and rephrased her question to Albus. "_How_ could anyone have gotten ahold of your blood?"

Albus shrugged, "I honestly don't know,"

"Try and think back," she persisted. "Has anyone 'accidentally' nicked you by the dinner table or something?"

Albus shook his head. "No, no one has so much as pricked me recently. Let alone, drawn blood."

Agnes frowned but looked far from defeated. "There's someone dangerous in this school," she spoke more to herself than to us. "Someone willing to use dark magic to hurt people." Her comment brought to mind something I had heard just the day before:

_"Ms. Clapsaddle believes that someone in Hogwarts poses a deadly threat to us all..." _Malfoy had said about his meeting with the tidy witch with the pearls.

At the time, I had taken Malfoy's comment a little less seriously than a troll chess tournament, but maybe there was something to it after all...

"Wait a minute! What's this?" Agnes quickly seized Albus' left hand and held it up to the light where, across his palm was plainly visible the purple scab of a rather deep cut. "Who did this, and why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, sounding indignant and slightly hurt.

Albus regarded the cut confusedly for a moment before his expression cleared. "Oh, that," he sighed. "That's nothing. Just a dumb prank someone pulled on me a couple of days ago."

"Prank?" Agnes asked, her interest piqued. "What prank?"

"You remember. Someone in my House thought it would be really funny to cover my bed with these really big, hairy spiders."

Agnes shuddered and nodded. "I remember,"

"Well, while I was cleaning the whole mess up, one of the buggers bit me. I showed the bite to Hagrid, who was really interested in those things at first. But he lost interest in them when he found out their bite wasn't poisonous."

"Oh, is that all it was?" Agnes said, slightly disappointed. "Well, we know they got your blood some how, so if it wasn't that then we'll have to think of something else. Maybe...maybe...is it possible that someone took some of your blood and then wiped your memory?"

"I guess it's possible..." Albus said slowly. "But not very likely. That's a flashy spell according to my dad, and I'm almost always in a public place or with you two. Or Rose..."

At the mention of his cousin he quickly bit his lip as worry rushed on to his face. But Agnes would not be distracted. "Well, they did it somehow, so we just have to think,"

That was something I could handle with ease as I could think rings around the words greatest intellectuals. (It's very easy, actually. You just think of an intellectual and picture rings around him.) Deep analytical thought is a natural state of mine, as are all the rest of my myriad talents.(The exact listing of all my talents will be printed in my upcoming book, fully alphabetized and indexed. (Only twenty galleons a pop, so order now.))

I attacked the problem at hand and all the insipid noises around me (namely Agnes) slowly faded as my mind came into force.

I mulled it over and over, and racked my memory for anything that would give me a clue to this puzzle. I started to remember something. Something I had read.

In my mind's eye I opened the book and began skimming the pages, quickly scanning them until a paragraph caught my eye. I stopped and read it and reread it, just to be completely sure. I was right. I had found the answer.

"Zed? Aren't you listening?"

I crashed back into reality and found myself almost surprised to be sitting in the library. "What?" I said.

"I just asked you what you think of Agnes' theory," Albus said, rather impatiently. "Honestly, where've you been for the last few minutes? You've just been staring into space."

"I was thinking," I said, standing up. "Excuse me a moment, I have to get something."

"Wait, what about Agnes' idea?"

"I'm sure it's rubbish, whatever it is. I'll be right back."

"But Zed-"

"Oh, let him go, Albus," Agnes said. "He's not helping anyways."

Quick as I could, I dashed down the long, dark and damp passages that led to the Slytherin dormitory and went straight for my four-poster. Hastily, I threw off the covers and the sheets and, with my finger, traced a finely cut slit in the mattress. I plunged my hand deep into the hole until I grasped hard leather which I extricated.

I held the aged book in my hands and regarded it fondly. I knew it had to stay well hidden at all times; I knew what would happen to me if it was ever discovered, but this was an extenuating circumstance. Albus' life might be at risk. (And, of course, with my spending so much time in his close proximity, that puts _my_ life at risk.)

I tucked the brittle tome under my arm and rushed back to the library, hiding the title with my sleeve and praying I wouldn't run into a teacher.

I arrived back at the library fully out of breath and found the pair in almost the exact same position I had left them in. "Oh, he's back," Agnes said, tonelessly.

Albus looked up at me. "Zed, what was all that about?"

In answer, I strutted up to their table and slowly placed the book down in front of them. They bent over it and read the silver foil title:

**_The Darkness Illuminated_**

**_An extensive introduction to the lesser known magics_**

**_By Blandish Garote_**

"Zed," Albus said quietly, "where did you get this?"

"My father loaned it to me before I boarded the Hogwarts Express," I said, proudly. "It's good, isn't it?"

"You can't have this!" Agnes hissed angrily at me. "This is a book that teaches Dark Magic!"

"First of all, it doesn't teach you how to us Dark Magic," I replied coldly. "It only explains it's nature. And second of all, I'm allowed to have it provided I keep it well hidden from the faculty staff. My dad told me so."

Agnes looked at me as though she were seeing me for the first time. "You know, Zed, you really _do _belong in Slytherin."

I wrinkled my brow in confusion at that. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"For a moment, there was," she answered, cryptically. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel I had lost something, but decided that even if I had, it wasn't worth having anyways. (She was Hufflepuff, for goodness sake!)

"Zed, why are you showing us this?" Albus asked, pushing away the book as though it were giving off a bad smell.

"Don't you get it?" I said in an excited whisper. "This book explains everything. Everything that's happened to Rose. How they got your blood. It's all in here." I caressed the book's black cover gently as I spoke and pushed it back toward Albus, who was now looking intrigued.

"Does it really?" he asked.

He began to open the cover but it was quickly slammed shut by the hand of Agnes. "Albus, you can't!" she whispered, fiercely. "This is a book of Dark Magic. You can't look at it."

"I'm not going to learn the stuff," he countered defensively. "I just want to find out how they did it. Think about it!" he said, quickly as she opened her mouth to answer him. "Think about it! If we know how it's done, we would know what to look for. If we know what to look for, we can find out who did this thing to Rose."

"Albus, I want to find out who hurt Rose, too," Agnes pushed the book away from Albus and towards me. "But this isn't the way. I'm sorry, but I can't let you do it."

"Look," I began, deciding it was time some sense was injected into this discussion. "Agnes, let's not get-"

"Ms. Murehead to you,"

"...All right... Ms. Murehead then. I don't think you can keep Albus away from finding out-"

"If I had my way, Albus would keep away from a lot of bad influences," she said, icily. "And I'm not talking about books."

"I can take care of myself, Agnes," Albus said while making an impatient grab for the book. "And I'm going to see what this book has to say."

"Oh, no you're not!" She suddenly lunged across the table at my precious tome and started trying to tear it while I shrieked in horror. Albus deftly moved the volume out of the reach of her clawing hands and backed away with it, flipping through its yellow pages as he did.

The wave of indignant hushing started up again at our commotion but the two first years, otherwise engaged in their own contest, seemed not to hear.

Agnes' face was flushed and her curly blond hair fell disheveled in front of her face. "Albus!" she hissed. "Don't do it!"

"I've got to,"

"Be careful! That there is really old."

"Albus, it isn't worth it,"

"Been in the family for years, it has,"

"Agnes, I'm doing it for Rose,"

"Am I interrupting anything here?"

The three of us swung around in astonishment at the polite, patronizing question and looked right into the wide, inane smile of a smartly dressed witch wearing a thick strand of pearls.

Albus immediately shoved my book behind his back and set about to not looking guilty and highly suspicious, (and failing miserably.) Ms. Clappsaddle gave no indication that she had noticed the book but I thought I saw smile widen slightly.

"Hello there, children," she gushed through her thick smile. The three of us regarded her silently. "Are any of you a Ms. Agnes Murehead?"

Agnes paled slightly as she slowly raised her hand. "Well, I dare say it isn't one of these boys," she said.

"Too right you are," Ms. Clappsaddle sang. "And what a clever girl you are. I'll bet we would have loads to talk about."

"How much?"

"Would you be a dear and see me in my office?"

Agnes looked as though she wanted to be anything but a 'dear'. "I- I really can't," she stuttered. "My next period is coming up and I can't be late-"

"Not to worry, dear girl," the witch's smile grew even wider though it never once touched her eyes. "You shall have special permission. It has all been worked out with the Headmistress. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I simply want to talk is all. Just to talk. What could be wrong with that?" Agnes didn't answer. "Come along, dear. We simply must have a talk."

And the witch turned and strode out of the library with Agnes right behind her, sending us one last forlorn look.

* * *

><p>Not taking any more chances and hiding the book securely, Albus and I rushed to a place where we knew we would not be disturbed: A certain girls lavatory with a particularly whiney ghost. Once inside Albus handed me the book and simply said, "Show me,"<p>

I gingerly opened it's black, leather bound cover and flipped through it's flaking pages until I reached the paragraph I was looking for. Slowly I turned the book around and pointed the paragraph out to Albus.

_The Transylvanian Blood Spider has many highly recommended uses, chief among them is its adaptive blood type._

_The creature itself does not have distinctive blood of its own, but rather mimics the blood of others. Once bitten, the spider's blood will be transformed into that of it's victim, leaving anyone who gets ahold of it with an ample supply of the victim's blood that may then be used in any manner of spell._

_For a complete list of blood spells, turn to page 4,587._

On the next page was a rough illustration of a hideous arachnid. "Isn't that what they looked like?" I asked.

Albus nodded as he held up his hand. The scar from his bite leaped out in sharp relief. "Who did it?" he asked, quietly.

"I...really can't say for sure,"

"Zed, you know something,"

"Not really, just a hunch-"

"Who pulled that 'prank'?" he demanded sharply.

I sighed deeply. "I think it may have been...Damon Devon and Allison Smythe."


	17. Chapter 17 The Wheezing Wand

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE WHEEZING WAND

One of the stranger aspects of life is expressed in the way we notice things. You can go for ages with an object right in front of you and remain blissfully unaware of it, but once its pointed out to you, you cannot help but see it everywhere you look. (Let the record note that I, Silvanus Zed, have never been blissfully unaware of anything.)

Case in point: The next day it seemed as though I couldn't go anywhere without running into Damon Devon and Allison Smythe. Every which way I turned they were there, right in my line of vision. If I didn't know any better I could have sworn they were following me as they persisted in appearing just over my shoulder or directly in front of me in queues.

It was simply uncanny. It was almost as if they suspected.

It was almost as if they _knew_.

(Or it could simply have been that we shared the same class schedule. (Though I'm not totally sold on that explanation)).

I watched them laugh so innocently as they put their heads together in gossip and mimicked and derided those around them the way they alway did, but that day they appeared to me in a different light.

The rotund shape of Damon and the pointy features of Allison were physically the same as the day before, but now they carried with them an underlying menace. What were they really capable of?

As I watched Damon spill his pumpkin juice and fall off his chair I surmised that they couldn't be capable of much. Still...

Albus glared at the twosome over his fried eel strudel and I knew the same thoughts were running through his mind (even if they were running at a slightly slower pace.) He was reevaluating previous conceptions and conjuring up different possibilities and scenarios.

Over by the Hufflepuff table, Agnes was chatting animatedly with Jane Doe and pecking at her food. She had chosen not to join us for breakfast and was now doing the same during lunch. The way she pointedly avoided glancing toward our table and the way she sat with the back of her blonde head facing us led me to assume she figured we read the book and deeply disapproved.

I knew for an absolute fact that she was in the wrong on this issue. She was completely unreasonable and annoyingly judgmental about a subject she understood very little. I mean, it wasn't as if she was like me, who pretty much already understood everything and was therefore able to justify acting judgmental.

I suddenly found myself reflecting on why I cared about what that Hufflepuff girl thought about me, or whether she ate with us. I considered the question for a minute and concluded that, in fact, I didn't care.

That uncomplicated matters considerably.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by the sound of fluttering wings above my head. I looked up just in time to dodge a diving tawny owl that swiftly landed on my plate and began attacking my eel. I noticed the parchment attached to its leg and frowned in puzzlement: First of all, the post usually came at breakfast, and second of all, I never receive mail.

"Hey, that's addressed to me," Albus said, excitedly, pointing at his name on the rolled up letter. (That at least answered one question.) He swiftly undid the parchment, unfurled it and read, 'Look behind you'.

His eyebrows raised in bemusement so high I thought they might disappear into his scalp. Slowly he turned around whereupon his eyes widened and he let out a gasp.

* * *

><p>They stood in the entrance to the Great Hall waving jovially and smiling warmly at Albus. The man was tall and gangly with a shocking mass of red hair not unlike Rose. The woman beside him was pretty despite her bushy brown hair bookish demeanor.<p>

The two of them strode into the Great Hall as if they were homecoming, hungrily taking in every detail of the room from the carvings on the walls, to the floating candles, to the grime collecting between the flags. They drank it all in like it was a dear all friend they had not seen in years.

Laughing joyfully, Albus jumped from his seat and ran over to them and graced them each with an enveloping hug. (As mentioned previously, he had a weakness for displaying disgustingly overt acts of sentimentality. Poor boy.)

"What are you guys doing here?" I heard Albus ask. It sounded like he could not believe they were there.

"We came to reapply," the man answered sarcastically. "Remedial stuff, you understand,"

"Don't think you couldn't us it, Ronald," the woman chided. (I couldn't tell if she was serious or joking.) "We came to see Rose, of course. Do you know how she's doing, dear?"

Albus shook his head. "They haven't let me see her," he said, sullenly.

"Well, we're _all _going to see her today," the man named Ronald said. "We'll head upstairs just as soon as Theodore comes in from parking the brooms. Probably wrecking the whole lot of them as we speak,"

"Ron!"

"What? Wha'd I say?"

"Wait, Teddy is here too?" Albus could barely contain his excitement at the mention of this 'Teddy'. (At the time I assumed 'Teddy' was a childhood plush bear of his.)

The witch nodded. "Of course, Albie. He's family. Besides, he's been itching for an excuse to visit this place." She looked about at her surrounding wistfully. "All the memories..."

"Right..." the wizard said slowly, a sly grin spreading over his face. "_That's_ the reason he was soooo eager to come. The memories!" He gave a little wink and the witch sighed in exasperation.

"Honestly," she muttered.

Something suddenly occurred to Albus and he looked eagerly into the witch's face. "Aunt Hermione," he began, "did my mum and dad also come?"

Aunt Hermione's face softened. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, "They wanted to come, really they did. But they were called away out of the country for something urgent."

"Oh," Albus sounded down cast.

"Ah, don't get so down in the mouth, Albie," Mr. Weasley said. "Look here, I've something to show you." He placed his long, gangly hand into his coat pocket and drew out a bic lighter. (For those of you who did not take Muggle Studies, a 'Lighter' is a sort of small, cylindrical instrument used to light small fires. They are often employed to light the fuses for muggle explosives, if the muggle Saturday morning cartoons can be considered accurate.)

Albus regarded the object with polite disinterest. "That's very nice, Uncle Ron," he said, "but I've just given up smoking."

"Cheeky boy." Uncle Ron scowled. "This is my new mobile,"

"Your 'mobile'?"

"Correct. May I give you a demonstration?"

"Better say 'yes', Albie," Aunt Hermione broke in, "He's been showing off his new toy to everyone he's met since he got it."

"It is not a toy!" Uncle Ron said, sounding deeply wounded. "It's a very expensive, cutting edge advancement in magical practicality. Also, it's a lot of fun."

"I stand corrected,"

"Darn right,"

"So what does it do?" Albus asked, his curiosity slightly piqued.

Mr. Weasley grinned. "I'll show you," He clicked the cylinder and a small orange and blue flame sparked into existence at its tip as though by magic. He held the lit cylinder close to his freckled face and spoke slowly and clearly: "CALL HARRY!"

The small flame immediately burst into a large green blaze, emitting a shower of emerald sparks and caused Uncle Ron to whip it away from his face with a pain-filled yelp.

"He holds it too close every time," Aunt Hermione stated flatly. "We've had to grow his eyebrows back six times already."

Uncle Ron didn't seem to hear her as his attention was wholly directed at the sparking green fire sprouting from his 'mobile', and he waited eagerly in silence. And then a shape took form amid the dancing tendrils of the flame and to my astonishment, I recognized it to be a head. A human head floating in miniature within the emerald fire. What's more, it was a head that I recognized for I had seen it earlier that year. It was the head of a man with round spectacles and dark, disheveled hair that only nearly covered the scar on his forehead.

"This isn't a good time, Ron," Harry Potter said, distractedly. "I know your excited about your mobile, but you can't keep calling me like this. The situation is very delicate and getting worse all the time."

"It's great to see you too," Ron said, unabashed.

Harry grunted and sighed. He glanced to the right and spotted the witch. "Hello, Hermione," he said, "What's all that noise in the background? Where are you?"

"We're here in Hogwarts now," she replied. "visiting Rose."

"Oh, I see. Send her my love and best wishes, will you? Ginny's as well."

"Of course,"

"Harry," Ron began with a bit of a smirk. "There's someone here who wants to talk to you..." He swiveled the mobile around in his hand until Albus appeared in his father's line of vision.

"Albus!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, his expression brightening considerably.

"Hullo, dad," I could hear the excitement in Albus' voice. Mr. Weasley handed his precious mobile off to his nephew who quickly hurried off to find some relative privacy. (By that I mean 'a place that is relatively private' and not 'privacy from relatives'.)

"It really is good to be back," Mrs. Weasley said, once again taking in her surroundings. "I wonder if we couldn't just nip into the library for a few minutes, just for old times sake."

"We certainly could not!" Ron balked, sounding utterly horrified.

His wife bristled impatiently. "Why ever not?"

"Three reasons:" He held up three gangly fingers and curled them as he counted. "One: You won't end up staying there for only a few minutes."

"You can't possibly know that for a fact-"

"Two: I've already spent too many years of my life in that dusty old place."

"Do you actually think you couldn't benefit from some time in proximity to books-"

"Three: I'm not tired and in no need of a nap." Ron closed his fist triumphantly, as though that settled the matter, and glanced worriedly at his watch. "I _know_ he's wrecking all those brooms," he muttered darkly.

Hermione scowled. "I wish Harry and Ginny had come," she said. "They would have been excited to see the library again." Her forehead suddenly wrinkled and her lips pursed tightly, her eyes glinting with tension. "I hope they're both alright," she uttered in a barely audible whisper.

Ron snorted. "Harry and Ginny can take care of themselves," his tone was light and casual. "Besides, this isn't the first time they've had assignment in Alba-"

"RON, HUSH!" Mrs. Weasley silenced him quickly, her eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard. (Obviously missing me completely.)

"Oh, that's right," Ron shrugged sheepishly, "I forgot."

"Do be more careful, Ron. I think we're being eavesdropped."

"Really? By who?"

"Do you see that pale boy over there by the Slytherin table?"

"The one with the overly large nose?"

"Yes, him. I think he's been listening in on us."

"Little prat,"

(It goes without saying that they could not have been referring to me as my nose is a picture of perfection, as has been previously noted in the first chapter.)

"I don't like the looks of him, Ron. All shifty eyed and- Oh, there you are, Albie. Did you and your dad have a nice chat?"

Albus had strode back into the Great Hall all smiles and he nodded, handing the still lit lighter back to his uncle.

"Alright, Harry," Ron said, "we're going up to see Rose now. Can you tell us where James and Victoire are?"

"Hold on just a minute," I heard Mr. Potter crinkle some parchment and then I think I heard him say something along the lines of "I solemnly promise that I am up to no good" or something like that. (Obviously, I misheard.) "Aha!" I heard him declare. "Just as I expected. James is currently whizzing around the Quidditch pitch. And Victoire..." his voice trailed off as though he were concentrating on perusing a map. "That's odd," he said, at last. "She's down in the Slytherin dungeons."

"Really? What would she be doing there?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Ron," Mr. Potter said, his tone indicating that the conversation was over. "It was good to speak with you Albus. Keep up the good work. I'll send mother your love. And you, Hermione."

"Take care, Harry."

"And Ron, I'm very serious. You mustn't call me again unless it's something extremely urgent. I'll be in touch when I can. Promise me?"

"Scouts honor, Harry."

Mr. Potter nodded and the flame flickered out, leaving nothing but a white twirl of ascending smoke.

"I suppose we'd better fetch James and head up to the Hospital Wing then." Aunt Hermione said. "Teddy knows the way, he'll meet us there. Albie, would you be a dear and fetch Victoire for us?"

"Sure, Aunt Hermione,"

She smiled warmly at him and the couple turned and left the Great Hall.

Albus made a quick bee-line for my table and approached me. "I'm heading down to the dungeons," he said. "Walk with me?"

I looked down at my half eaten bowl of french fried salamander tales and decided it was no great loss. I pushed the plate away and stood up.

* * *

><p>What most slow minded individuals fail to grasp (and apparently there are alot of you out there) is that when I say I have committed to memory all the maps and ways of Hogwarts, it does not necessarily mean I can spout off directions at any moments notice like some global positioning system. The fact that I sometimes became lost in the unending labyrinth of the Hogwarts dungeons in no way reflects on my long standing genius reputation.<p>

(For those of you who still do not grasp the delicate subtleties of the concept I am expositing I simply have no time for you right now.)

The long and short of the matter was, we got lost. We ambled around in the deepest reaches of the Hogwarts underground where the darkness became so thick it felt as though the torches were fighting a losing battle.

"What on earth is she doing in this area?" Albus wondered aloud for the umpteenth time. "I mean, this is the Slytherin's turf, and she hates Slytherins."

"Maybe she's slumming," I offered.

Albus grunted. "These torches aren't doing much good," he said, pulling out his wand. "What's that spell for making light? Do you remember?"

I thought a moment. "Wasn't it 'Loom-puss'?"

Albus considered it and shrugged. He waved his wand and cried "_Loom-puss_". A sticky, yellowish substance spit forth from the tip of his wand and splattered me across the face. It felt like I had been sneezed on by a bull moose (which would make that only the third time that has happened to me.)

"Thanks a whole lot," I growled sarcastically, attempting to wipe the gunk off my face but only succeeding in entangling my hand in the mess. (For your sake I'll refrain from getting more graphic.)

Albus snickered delightedly. "It was your suggestion," he said earnestly. "Here, try this," he handed me a crumpled piece of blank parchment from his pocket. It managed to remove most the snot from my person and I discarded it.

"We still need some light," Albus pointed out. "Wanna try again?"

This time I thought a little longer than a moment. "I think its...'Lumos'," I said, tentatively. "Does that sound about right to you?"

"Only one way to find out," Albus waved his wand and I took a step back and covered my face. "_Lumos,_" The tip of his wand flared and began to emit a soft glow. I sighed with relief, pulled out my wand and did the same.

We trudged on for a few more minutes and I was checking my watch when Albus suddenly halted. I looked around at him in some surprise. "Albus, what is-"

"SSSHHH!" he hissed. "How do we put out these lights?" he whispered, urgently.

"_Nox,_"

He uttered it and our lights went out, allowing the darkness to wash over us. "Zed, do you hear that?" his whisper came out of the blackness.

I strained my ears and picked up a very soft moan somewhere up ahead.

"Do you hear that?" Albus asked again. I nodded and then remembered he couldn't see me. "Yes," I breathed.

"Doesn't it sound like Victoire?"

"I-I suppose,"

We waited a second and then we heard it again. "Something isn't right," Albus murmured. I could sense him hold out his wand in front of him like a dagger and I also assumed a defensive stance.

"Be ready for anything," he said, and began to cautiously inch forward while I followed, allowing him to tread about a pace or two ahead of me. (Oh, let's not hear anything about that, please! I was...assessing the situation. Yes, that's right. Assessing the situation. Let's go with that.)

We moved down the long stretch of tunnel and the moan became more audible. I didn't know Victoire too well, but it certainly sounded like her. And then there was another voice there too, along with Victoire's. A voice that was oddly familiar. I grasped at the memory but it scrambled at the edge of my mind, frustratingly out of my reach.

And then they were right in front of us. I could hear their clothes rustling in the darkness.

"One...two...three...LUMOS!"

The dank hallway was lit up with the pale blue tinted light of Albus' wand and the shocked face of Victoire appeared before us, her eyes wide as saucers and her lips firmly attached to the lips of a boy.

She instantly pulled herself away from the boy's embrace and turned on Albus, her eyes blazing with fury. "You little gits!" she hissed, her voice like acid. "What are doing here?"

Albus was too shocked for words. "'What...what am _I_ doing here'?" He held up his wand and it's light fell upon the boy behind his seething cousin. A shock of red hair framing a smug, self satisfied smile on an otherwise charming face came into view. "Marcus Felonious?"

"Hey, Albie, old buddy," he drawled cheerfully. "This really isn't a good time right now, so if you little tykes would just mosey along-"

"Albus..." Victoire was talking slowly behind tightly clenched teeth. "If either you or your big-nosed friend utter a word of this to anyone, I swear I'll-"

"Oh, I wouldn't mention to anyone that your dating a Slytherin." Albus said, the sarcasm dripping in his tone. "That would make me young beyond my years."

"Watch it," she growled, her slender hand painfully pinching Albus' cheek like a claw.

"What were you two imps looking for down here, anyways?" Marcus asked with a bored curiosity.

"Victoire," I answered while Albus rubbed the stinging red blotch on his cheek. "Your aunt and uncle Weasely are here at Hogwarts to see Rose. Oh, and they brought with someone named Theodore."

Victoire's face shot up with urgency. "Teddy's here?" she gasped, a note of panic trailing in her voice. "Right _now_?" Albus nodded slowly and his cousin screamed a really bad word that I cannot repeat in this narrative. "Alright...alright...I can do this." She ruffled her fingers through her silken hair and combed it back down again as she steadied her breathing. "I'll just go up and smile all pretty and you prats will keep your mouths shut and everyone will be happy."

"Oh, come on, baby," Marcus crooned, pulling Victoire into an embrace and grinning wickedly. "I think I'd like to meet you family. Especially this 'Teddy'. He sounds _very_ interesting."

"_That_ is not going to happen!" she said, placing her palm on his chest and firmly pushing him away. "This was a mistake. We're just going to make like it never happened. We're going to forget all about it." She glared warningly at Albus before rushing out of the tunnel.

Marcus watched her go with a lazy grin playing across his face. "You know, Albie, old buddy? You really have the worst timing."

"Marcus," Albus sputtered, "how- how did you manage to get so friendly with-"

"I already told you, Albus: Marcus Felonious doesn't need the help of a midget first-year to get on with the ladies." He sighed with a sort of resigned confidence. "Just you wait, little Albie. We'll wind up being related yet."

We started making our way out of the Slytherin tunnels. "Just be sure you aren't late for you next period," he warned. "Otherwise I'll be forced to asign you lines." He then burst out in in delighted laughter at his own joke. Apparently he found the very notion hillarious. "What is your next period, by the way?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Albus answered.

Marcus whistled. "You want to watch out, in that case. Professor Maime has been acting really weird lately." He considered for a minute. "Weirder than usual, that is. And you, Fred,"

"Zed,"

"Whatever. You should get yourself cleaned up. Your covered in snot.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, my personal cleanliness would not matter one bit, for something took place in that lesson that day that set us on a most deadly course-<p>

Oh, drat it! The Missus is calling. Hold that thought.


	18. Chapter 18 The Battle of Hogwarts II

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS II**

I remember that fateful lesson as though it took place yesterday, and I fear it shall forever be etched upon my memory. Many times at night, after the light goes out, it replays behind my eyelids and jolts me to wakefulness in a state of sweat and panting. And although the Missus may suspect that I am having another dream about that Trudy Templton, a scared and vulnerable side of me recognizes the truth, and shudders.

The queue had already formed outside the classroom as Albus and I rushed for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The customary silence had fallen over the group and the strange awkwardness that always accompanied lesson by Professor Maim was readily felt by all.

Agnes had strategically placed herself behind Jane Doe, indicating she was still punishing Albus for reading my book. (That is to say, punishing Albus and not me. Most of the time she couldn't even be relied upon to remember my name. (Even though 'Zed' seems like quite an easy name to remember. Oh, well. I suppose there is a reason she was placed in Hufflepuff.))

Albus and I fell into step at the end of the line and waited. The silence lengthened and everyone was acutely aware that an extreme effort was made in order to avoid making eye contact with their fellow. Scorpio stared resolutely at his shoe while Ricardo Ratsin concentrated on counting his fingers. (For some reason he kept coming up with eleven.)

I was looking at my watch for the seventh time when the strained creaking reached my ears. The classroom door slowly slid open, sounding eerily like a coffin in need of some oil. (I know that sounds a bit morbid, but I had not had my coffee yet.)

_WELL, WHAT ARE YOU DUNDERHEADS WAITING FOR? ENTER!_ The shrill voice commanded, and the group of students obeyed. Single file, the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs shuffled into the cold room and made for their respective desks.

_HOMEWORK!_ The high-pitched voice demanded and the class immediately placed their scribbled parchments on their desks. Flavious Flannel had a little trouble with his report as he seemed to be under the impression that 'writing a report' meant 'writing a novel'. He tried to heave a voluminous stack on to his desk and only managed to spill the whole mess on the floor, lose his glasses as he bent to retrieve them, slip over his own shoe laces and and overturn Allison Smythe's chair. (Honestly, to this day, I don't know why people say he's smart.)

The next moment all the reports fluttered up off everyone's desk and arranged themselves neatly within a black, rickety filing cabinet. The cabinet drawer slammed shut with an air of finality and the shrill voice spoke: _HOW MANY OF YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE COVERED DURING THE LAST LESSON? _The disembodied voice asked.

No one bothered to raise their hands.

_ONLY YOU FEW?_ the voice asked, sounding scandalized. _I AM SCANDALIZED! SHOCKED. UTTERLY SHOCKED. WELL THEN, LET ME REFRESH YOUR DULL MEMORIES. WHO HERE REMEMBERS HOW TO PERFORM A BASIC, DEFENSIVE, STUNNING SPELL?_

No one bothered to raise their hands.

_GOOD. THAT IS A LITTLE BIT BETTER. PERHAPS YOU AREN'T ALL A BUNCH OF HOPELESS DULLARDS. IT IS, OF COURSE, 'STUPEFY'. PERFORMED CORRECTLY, THIS SPELL WILL LEAVE YOUR OPPONENT SUFFICIENTLY INERT. THOUGH, WITH YOU LOT, ONE MAY BE HARD PRESSED TO SEE A DIFFERENCE._

I noticed Agnes roll her eyes.

_BUT KNOWING HOW SOMETHING IS DONE AND HAVING THE WILL TO CARRY IT OUT ARE TWO SEPARATE SKILLS. IF ANY ONE OF YOU WERE ATTACKED THIS INSTANT, WOULD HAVE THE PRESENCE OF MIND TO CARRY OUT THIS BASIC SPELL? _

_UNDER THREAT OF FIRE OR UNDER THREAT OF IMMANENT DEATH WOULD ANY OF YOU FIND IT WITHIN YOURSELF THE WILL TO PUT INTO ACTION WHAT YOU NOW KNOW?_

Some of the class sat up a little straighter, wondering where this line of questioning was going.

_TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO FIND OUT. WE ARE GOING TO FIND OUT WHAT LIES WITHIN YOUR FEEBLE HEARTS AND SEE THE COWARDS FOR WHO THEY ARE AND SEPARAT THEM FROM THE HEROS. _

_WHO KNOWS? PERHAPS I WILL BE SURPRISED._

A cabinet at the back of the class slammed open causing everyone to jump in their seats. I craned around and saw that it was lined with shelves, all of which were laden with shallow stone basins, roughly the size of soup bowls. No sooner had the cabinet doors opened than the stone basins began lifting themselves off their shelves. They glided around the classroom, only narrowly avoiding collision with assorted student heads, and they deposited themselves, one each, on every desk.

Albus and I exchanged wary looks before peaking over the edge of our stone basin. As I did, I assured my panicking mind that whatever happened, I would not drink the contents. (I had learned enough about magic to understand that much, at least.) What I saw drove any thought of drinking out of my mind. (And I've been on the wagon ever since.)

It was not quite a liquid but nor was it a gas, instead resembling something in between. It constantly swirled around within the bowl, sometimes on the verge of coalescing into substantial shapes before swishing back into the surrounding amorphous mass. I would later learn that this was, in fact, a pensive. Or something that passed for it, at any rate.

A pensive was meant to hold actual thoughts that manifested themselves as silvery, flowing, gossamer strands. What Albus and I beheld on that dreadful day was a dull, grey substance that oozed instead of flowed and stuck nastily to the surface of the bowl instead of gliding off it. It gave off a dirty atmosphere and I recoiled from the ooze in disgust. Something felt wrong about it. I resolved not to touch the horrid substance.

_AND NOW YOU SORRY LOT WILL TOUCH THE SUBSTANCE._

So much for resolutions. Albus sighed with resignation and he slowly leaned over the pensive. Bracingly, I followed suite.

Off to the side, I could hear Allison Smythe groan about ruining her make-up (and I wondered why she even bothered to smother the stuff on every day. After all, her face was a lost cause.)

As Albus and I neared the surface of the oozing mass it suddenly flattened and became as smooth as a glass window. Through it I could make out a picture. It looked as though I was staring down at a room of some type through a window in the ceiling. So entranced was I by the phenomenon that, without realizing it, my nose skimmed the surface of the substance and the next thing I knew, I was falling. Falling a long way down.

* * *

><p>The cold flagstones pressed harshly against my cheek and, dimly, I became aware of screaming in the distance. Painfully, my eyes fluttered open and I found myself lying in what looked like a corridor of Hogwarts. Only it couldn't be Hogwarts. Strewn all around me was crumbling rubble and the remnants of shattered statues and destroyed knight's armor. The walls looked as though they had been scorched and blasted by multiple deadly curses and all the paintings were ominously vacant.<p>

I staggered to my feet, coughing against the billowing clouds of plaster dust that accompanied the wreckage, and tried to regain my bearings. Suddenly the floor shook beneath my feet and leaned against a tattered wall to keep balance.

Off in the distance people shrieked.

Fighting against every instinct I possessed, I moved towards the sound of wailing voices and harsh clamor, noticing that as the screams grew louder the wreckage around me grew in severity. Another tremor shook through the structure causing me to trip over a piece of rubble and land on something soft. A face stared into mine. Empty, glassy eyes met my own and my scream mix with those in the background.

He was a student. A dead student. I had never seen him before but he wore the Hufflepuff insignia over his Hogwarts robes. Panic replaced my confusion and I pushed myself off the cold corpse while fighting down the urge to vomit. Where was I? What was going on? What was I supposed to do?

The next thing I did was get sick all over the front of my pants.

Another violent tremor vibrated the stone walls and floor causing loose chips to rain down upon me. It felt like there was a giant right outside pounding against the old castle with all his might.

Running footsteps sounded behind a bend in the corridor and a robed man careened into view. He held his wand out threateningly and his face was masked by a hideous skull. "Oy, there!" he called, "Done missed this little one, I did." He aimed his wand and a stream of shimmering green light issued from it's tip. Not daring to even think for a second, I leaped to one side, feeling the curse singe the hairs on my scalp and demolish the far wall.

Numb from panic, I streaked down the halls, turning randomly and pounding the floor desperately, never daring to look back. My heart was racing and threatening to beat it's way out of my chest. That was a Killing curse, I realized. That man with the skull mask had tried to kill me.

'What was going on?' I kept screaming in my head. This couldn't be Hogwarts. Everything was too wrong.

And then I found myself right outside the Great Hall and I saw it all.

Skull-faced men clashed with students and teachers. Werewolves scampered around, biting and mauling all within reach. Bodies were sprawled all around in awkward angles, alive or unconscious I could not guess. Off by the window a giant spider tried to force its way in to the melee while two wizards fought ferociously to hold it off. Deadly beams of red and green tore across the Hall, leaving smoke and destruction in their wake.

A battle was taking place in Hogwarts. And I was in the middle of it.

A feral werewolf noticed me standing in my stunned stupor and lunged for me. Her eyes gleamed yellow and saliva ran freely from her mouth. Her gleaming fangs were bared and her talon-like nails stretched forth while all I could do was raise my hands in a useless, defensive gesture and scream.

Midway through her leap the beast was intercepted by a suite of armor, it's hollow torso ringing loudly as it collided with my attacker. It turned and roughly shoved me into a corner before once again engaging the howling werewolf with it's dented sword. Crouching behind some rubble in my little corner I tried to regain control of my limbs that were trembling violently.

It was then that I heard a slight snuffle behind me. I turned and saw a small figure curled tightly into a ball that was trembling just as much as I was. Her face was buried in her lap and she rocked back and forth as she sobbed, apparently unaware that I was there.

It was Allison Smythe.

"Allis- Allison?" I said, "Allison, is that you?"

She looked up slowly and beheld me through a thick crust of tears. Her face was deathly pale. "What's going on?" she sobbed. "I was in class and then suddenly I'm here and things are attacking me and scary people are chasing me-"

"Allison," I spoke firmly. The state of my classmate made me feel that I had to act brave. At least for her sake. "Allison, we have to get out of here. It isn't safe here." She only shook her head and buried her face in her lap again. "Allison!" She started to rock back and forth and I realized it was useless. Unsteadily, I got to my feet and moved out from the relative safety of the rubble-strewn corner this time, having the presence of mind to take out my wand.

I stuck close to the walls and ran full out for the closest doorway. Terrible sounds burst all around me in the form of growls or explosions but I ignored them. I reached an entrance way and almost didn't notice that it led down to the Slytherin dungeons. The lights of the Great Hall faded along with the sounds of pitched battle as I made my way down, never stopping. Untill I ran into someone running in the opposite direction.

Instinctively, I lifted my wand and shouted what would have been a devastating curse if it had been at all coherent, but I needn't have bothered.

"Zed!" she cried. "Zed, where is he?" I squinted in the dim light and saw, to my relief, that it was curly-haired Agnes Moorehead, who's bruised and sooty face looked nothing like a skull mask. "Where is he, Zed?" she yelled, frantically grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

"Who are you talking-"

"Albus," another voice answered. I turned and saw that it belonged to Scorpious Malfoy who had replaced his assured drawl with a slight falsetto tremor. "She's been looking for Albus ever since I ran into her."

"Zed, where is Albus?" Agnes demanded; her voice was choked with panic.

"I d-don't kn-know. S-stop sh-shaking me. I don't know."

"Well, think!" she commanded. "You're always going on about how brilliant you think your mind is. Think! Albus was in class with everyone and then he's suddenly in this nightmare. Where does he go?"

"Who cares?" Scorpious yelled, his eyes somewhat wild. "We're in the middle of a bleeding war over here. We have to look out for ourselves!"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Agnes spat. "Zed, think! Where is he?"

"Okay, okay," I said, "Just give me a second." I closed my eyes and the distant rumble of the battle subsided as my mind came into force. Possibilities swam before me and were weighed and compared and then discarded. I sifted through the pieces of information at my disposal and carefully assembled a mental puzzle that was formed from logical perfection. And my eyes snapped open and the wave of sound crashed in again. "I have it," I said.

"Where?"

"He's with the other Slytherins."

Agnes groaned with impatient exasperation. "Zed, we don't have time for this,"

"No, no. Listen. He's together with the Slytherins. Why? Because they both headed for the same place."

"Zed-"

"I said, 'listen'. The entire class appears in this fray and the Slytherins know that they have to get as far away as possible and as close to any medical supplies as they can get." Scorpious nodded, obviously considering that he should be doing the same. "Albus appears in the same mess, but he, on the other hand, can only think of protecting someone dear to him who is right now very vulnerable."

"Wait, are you talking about Rose?" Agnes asked. I nodded and I saw comprehension slowly dawn upon her. "He's in the Hospital Wing!"

Not bothering to see if Malfoy or I were following, she spun around and made for the nearest stairwell as fast as her stocky feet feet would take her. I followed at a distance, preferring to let her test to see if the coast was clear. Malfoy followed behind me, making doubly sure. All of us panting heavily, we made our way upwards, passing the occasional limp body that I refused to look at, and passing by open windows that displayed hideous giants tearing at each other on the castle grounds. All these images remain washed out as a dull feeling of surrealism had settled over me as I plodded along on the tale of that blond, curly-haired girl.

And then the Hospital Wing appeared before us. But it was a lot more crowded than I had counted on. Our first year group of Slytherins were there, as I had predicted, taking cover behind sick beds and unconscious patients as they were assaulted by a gang of skull-masked wizards. There were at least a dozen of them and they all had their wands out, firing green beams of light at the cowering first years, obviously delighting in their victim's fear.

"Death-Eaters!" Malfoy screamed, and he dove for cover as the startled 'Death-Eaters' swung around, alarmed by his cry. Agnes pulled me aside as a curse shot past us and collided with bespectacled Flavious Flannel who sighed softly and dropped into a limp heap. The Death-Eaters cackled and sent a _Reducto_ curse at a near bed, pulverizing it and sending it's injured occupant flying. The Slytherin boy who had been quaking behind the now mangled bed was revealed in all his wretchedness. He squeaked with fright and ran for the far window, flattening himself against the wall. "Please," he cried through a web of tears and snot. "Please, please, please, don't hurt me,"

"Don't you worry, lad," one of the Deatheaters chuckled. "We won't lay a finger on you."

And then a great hairy leg reached through the window and grabbed the squealing boy firm. A giant spider's head appeared for a moment, it's pincers clicking madly, and the next moment, boy and spider were gone leaving nothing but the echoes of his scream. The Deatheaters laughed raucously.

"NO!"

The painful cry came from the middle of the room where the unconscious patient who had been thrown from her bed now lay. Her flaming red hair framed glassy eyes that starred upward yet saw nothing. "YOU'VE KILLED HER!" Albus sobbed as he tightly clutched his still cousin. His green eyes flashed with a maddened hate and a dark shadow passed over his face. _"You've killed her,"_ he said again, but this time it was a controlled whisper with precision pronunciation. Power echoed in his voice and a tingling sensation ran through my body causing my hair to stand on end. A slight hum had started to vibrate around us and it steadily built in intensity.

The Deatheaters looked like they felt it too as they stepped back, looking at each other uncertainly. Albus rose slowly to his feet, letting the body of Rose fall gently from his hands. The humming grew louder and his green eyes sparkled and glowed with malevolence.

He raised his wand.

A green wave swept from it's tip and overturned the surrounding Deatheaters. They flew back and hit the wall with a sickening crunch. They dropped and remained perfectly motionless. Not even their chests moved. I heard Agnes intake her breath, sharply.

There Albus stood: A lone, small figure, standing in the center of a demolished Hospital Ward over his lifeless cousin; their attackers flung in all directions. With trepidation the remaining Slytherins emerged from their hiding places. They approached Albus, who acted like they weren't there, and formed a circle around him. Damon Devon was the first to fall to his knee. Scorpious followed next along with Ricardo Ratsin and all the rest.

"All hail the Dark Lord," Ricardo muttered.

_"All hail the Dark Lord,"_ the rest chanted.

And then reality swam and shifted. It pulled and squeezed and the Hospital Ward disappeared along with the Deatheaters and Rose. We were back in the classroom, our desks still holding those stone basins. In the center of the classroom Albus stood, surrounded by a circle of kneeling Slytherins.

And the bell rang.

* * *

><p>END PART TWO<p> 


	19. Chapter 19 Exerpt 2

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

EXERPT #2

MUSINGS WITH MURIEL

(Display photo of horse-faced woman)

Dear reader, once again, I take no joy in relaying the following but it seems dark times are brewing. When last we left our poor, heroic Harry Potter we were musing if, perhaps, the constant squabbling between himself and his shrew, Binny, would soon drive him to end their sham of a marriage and his misery. I can surely tell by the flood of mail I received after that article that our Harry is very lucky indeed to have so many well wishers. Particularly you singles out there who are so eager to comfort him in his hour of need. (Perhaps one day he will indeed turn to one of you.)

But now, tragedy strikes him from another angle, though not an entirely new one. You will recall, dear reader, that when we last spoke of the great man's children now attending Hogwarts there were emerging many troubling signs. Like the rumor that the eldest Potter child, James, 13, was allegedly working on setting up a skrying glass in the girls lavatory. Precocious or not, we ladies do not find that sort of joke very funny. And then there was the more recent event where the darling prankster 'accidently' impaled his cousin, Rose Sneezly, with a flying broomstick. (Reports are she may be dead or an inferi by now.)

But that was nothing compared to little Albus, 11, who had run and joined Slytherin and entirely stopped speaking to his parents. In a fit of rebelliousness, he allegedly announced his cutting off with his father and all muggle family members. This last point came as quite a wicked blow to the Dursleys, a sweet and kind muggle family who had taken in Harry Potter after he was rendered an orphan. They are beside themselves with shock and grief to lose a family member. Even one such as Albus.

As disturbing as these rumors are I am afraid they only grow worse.

Reliable sources within Hogwarts inform us that young Albus has fully embraced his new Slytherin home and has been known to express open interests in the Dark Arts.

No need to shout. I can hear you all the way here. 'What?' you cry, 'I will not accept it. Such a thing cannot be true.' However, I am afraid it is. Albus was seen by several witnesses causing a scene in the Hogwarts library where he was found reading a book called 'The Darkness Illuminated' authored by the notorious Blandish Garote. (And we all know _his_ story, don't we?)Now, does that sound like innocent light reading to anyone? During the row he was having with a fellow student (probably a muggle-born) he was heard to have shouted, "I'm going to see what this book has to say!"

Obviously, he did.

Rumors abound that Albus not only expresses an interest in this vile subject but is said to be quite good at it as well. "The boy has a natural proclivity to the Dark Magic", one anonymous source said. "I don't want to say too much or he might curse me and my whole family." Albus allegedly practices his distressing talents on small animals and has already done away with quite a few little critters, or has no one else noticed that the boy does not currently own any sort of pet?

Young Potter also seems to have a charismatic and magnetic personality and has been using it to great effect. Already he has begun gathering followers and is fast forming what can only be described as a cult. He has cast his enchantment on one Hufflpuff girl in particular, an Agnes Moorhead, 11, who follows him with dog-like dedication, and routinely threatens violence against anyone who 'disses him'. (Pardon the vernacular.) In addition, most of his fellow Slytherin House have started regarding him as something akin to a 'Godfather' where they respectfully stand when he enters the room and they share their homework and test answers with him. (See my Musing from two weeks ago, _'The E Student?'_)

He is also constantly seen in the presence of a sinister young man with a pale complexion (not unlike a vampire) and a very large nose who goes by the mysterious monicker of 'Said'. (One can only guess at what this nickname could possibly refer to.) This lad is said to be on the quiet side, always lurking in the shadows while watching events unfold. (One would think he was writing a book.)

At this point, the reader is surely noticing a few stark similarities between these events and something parallel that took place in our recent past. It is very true that _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ began is infamous career at a very young age. Most of his followers, especially those in high rank, were found later to have been boyhood friends of the then innocent Tom Riddle. Even then, no one took notice when a group of children who rallied around a charming boy with a 'proclivity to the Dark Arts'. No one dreamed what would grow from these 'hamless' associations.

Of course, I am not implying anything. Albus obviously comes from fine stock and has received a decent moral upbringing. (At least by _one_ of his parents. Not by some hussy who was seen dancing in goblin nightclubs by over a dozen witnesses.) I am simply pointing out a few facts that may or may not share something in common. But I will leave this question before you: Might things not have been different if people had acted early on? Would lives not have been saved if someone had but recognized the signs?

We should think on these questions and ask ourselves if little Albus has less in common with his first namesake, the great Albus Dumbldore, and more in common with his second namesake, Severus Snape, killer of the former.

I fear dark clouds are on the horizon. Not just for brave Harry but for all of us everywhere. Personally, I remain optimistic for the future and what it holds, but still, a part of me cannot help but keep one suspicious eye on Hogwarts and muse.

This has been Musings with Muriel, and may all your prophesies be good ones.


	20. Chapter 20 Return of the Rose

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**RETURN OF THE ROSE**

It just occurred to me that all you readers have been unjustly deprived a real description of me. That is, a description of the physical attributes of Silvanus Zed. (Description number one: The Great Silvanus Zed sometimes refers to himself in the third person.) I shall now attempt to assuage your burning curiosity. (Oh boy, are you in for a treat.)

Imagine Carry Grant who marries a veela and they have a son. The son grows up and marries a veela and they have a daughter who grows up and marries yet another veela. (Male one, obviously.) They have a son who grows up and and marries a girl who is the product of the exact same breeding except for the reversing of the male and female roles. The two of them have an offspring who grows up and marries a veela who was just named 'Ms. Universe' in the International Veela Pageant and their offspring-

Wait just a minute. It has now occurred to me that it is patently ridiculous that anyone within the magical community would not have seen my dashing visage prominently displayed ubiquitously throughout our culture. It goes without saying that _everyone_ knows what Silvanus Zed looks like. (Down, ladies.)

On with the narrative.

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><p>A sense of dark foreboding and malevolent shadows began to fill the old Hogwarts castle that month. Eery music wafted through the corridors following students and teachers foolish enough to brave the passage ways by themselves. The ghosts became increasingly restless and excited, sneaking up on people and laughing airily into their ears. All the classrooms were suddenly shrouded in thick cobwebs and a feeling of impending evil made itself known upon the grounds.<p>

But I suppose you really aren't interested in hearing about the Hogwarts Halloween preparations, are you? (You aren't missing much, it's the same every year.)

The next few days following that... awkward Defense Class passed rather quietly and uneventfully. It seemed that every student in the first year had come to an unspoken agreement never to mention their experience and, indeed, pretended it never happened. An observer from without would not have noticed anything unnerving in the behavior of those first years nor would he have reason to suspect them of any underlying psychosis, (no more than usual, that is,) but someone with a more keen insight would pick up on the more subtle signs.

Subtle signs that included the odd twitch and unwarranted flinching when people made sudden movements. There was also the sporadic hyperventilation and the occasional horrific nightmare accompanied by maddened, terrified shrieks and full blown bed wetting. (Though, I think the house elves who cleaned the beds might have picked up that something was bothering the students.) And then there was this one pudgy Slytherin boy who experienced major panic attacks and had to be sent to the Hospital Wing every time he saw a spider. (For some reason, he also suddenly developed an irrational fear of windows.)

All the Hufflepuffs displayed this odd post-trauma syndrome but their behavior was down right normal when compared to the Slytherins. Specifically in regards to how the Slytherins began treating Albus.

Albus himself was largely unscathed from the whole affair and was merely deeply relieved to find that the Rose Weasley he watched die in that tainted memory was just that. (A tainted memory. (Honestly, do I have to spell out everything?)) The moment the lesson was over he quickly ran to his cousin to confirm that she was alright and he spent many hours there.

In his worried and distracted state, Albus did not notice the... the... level of deference he started receiving. The class no longer taunted him, hissed at him, or left nests of disgusting bugs in his bed sheets. Don't get me wrong, they weren't nice to him either, just kind of respectful. Stranger yet, this new attitude had even spread to the older Slytherin classes including the fifth-years.

The only one left firmly out of the loop was good old Flavious Flannel who went about his business completely oblivious to the goings on around him and could be witnessed several days later at the breakfast table doing exactly what he always did at breakfast. Namely, scribbling highly complicated arithmancy and potions equations on the tablecloth with his ketchup. (To this day I don't understand why everyone says he's smart.)

I was watching this daily morning lunacy with understandable amusement while slurping my cereal when Agnes plopped herself down across from me.

"Albus isn't here," I said before she uttered a word. "You can find him up visiting Rose."

"We need to talk."

"Please, I'm eating."

"Look, buster," she said, gripping the table tightly and leaning forward. "I don't like you and I've made no secret about that, but now you are going to listen to what I have to say."

"Can you not lean forward so much, dear? Your getting dandruff in my Lucky Charms."

"Shut up, Zed, and listen. There was something very strange about that memory we all went into,"

I sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Of course there was something strange about it," I said, adopting a tone normally reserved for explaining the difference between blocks and balls to a three-year old. "You see, that was a _tainted_ memory. A real memory or a compilation of memories that were manipulated and edited-"

"I know it was a tainted memory!" Agnes huffed indignantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Then you're obviously confused about the meaning of the word 'tainted'. 'Tainted' means when something is-"

"I also know what 'tainted' means!" Agnes nearly shouted. I smiled, realizing I had finally got her goat. "And I wouldn't look so smug if I were you," she spat. "You're not nearly as smart as you think you are to be acting so patronizing."

"I get on alright," I said dismissively. "But your jealousy is understandable considering-"

"YOU - ARE - A - LOSER, ZED," she punctuated every word like a hard slap in the face. "Or haven't you noticed that without Albus you've been sitting at the end of this table all by yourself, completely alone?"

A long silence followed this observation. I saw the gap of space between myself and the rest of my House as though a glass barrier had been set up on the bench. I stirred my cereal but found I had no appetite. And the silence drew out.

"What do you want?" I said icily.

"That tainted memory we were all in," Agnes said, casually picking up the thread of the conversation. "It was definitely a memory? A memory of the past?"

"A tailored memory," I corrected, still stirring absently. "Probably collected and compiled from several people who had actually witnessed the events. Modified here and there for the purposes of that... should I call it a 'lesson'?"

"So it was a modified memory of things that happened in the past?"

"I already said it was. What are you getting at?"

Agnes looked me right in the eye and she spoke slowly. "Tell me: What was Rose doing in that memory?"

I thought for a moment. "Rose?" I said. "Obviously, Rose wasn't in the original memory. It was modified. So someone must have placed her in that muddy piece of memory."

"Why would they have done that?"

I shrugged indifferently, keen on ending the discussion as soon as possible. "I suppose it was in order to increase the shock value. Make the whole thing more personal and scary."

Agnes shook her head. "No, there weren't any relatives of any of the other students. It was just Albus. Someone had singled him out."

"Are you saying that Professor Maim has it out for Albus?"

"I'm saying that something isn't right. It was almost as if he was expected to react the way he did. Like he was being tested."

"Rubbish,"

"Rubbish, huh? Tell me then," she lowered her voice to a bare whisper, "are all your mates still calling him the Dark Lord?"

I hissed at her to be quiet. (The last thing I needed was for that stupid girl to start a rumor.) "They aren't," I said. "Everyone's acting like the whole incident never happened, so no harm no foul."

"That actually worries me all the more," Agnes said, munching on some of my pumpkin pie. "They're all acting so coordinated. There's a master plan at work here."

"Let me get this straight, then," I said, pulling my pumpkin pie to safety. "Someone plants blood suckers in Albus' sheets in order to sick a broom at his cousin, then plants her likeness in a tainted memory and offs her in order to provoke a reaction from their little 'Dark Lord'."

Agnes clapped her hands excitedly. "Zed, that's it. You've figured it out!"

"Uhhh, no I haven't. That was sarcasm."

"Now the only thing to figure out is who is behind it. Allison Smythe and Damon Devon planted the bugs in his bed, didn't they? But Professor Maim must have been the one to modify the memory. Then again, we've never actually _seen_ Professor Maim-"

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I had lost my patience. (And my pumpkin pie was almost gone.) "There is no master plan, Agnes! There is no conspiracy or evil Order or anything like that. No one thinks Albus is anything other than the son of Harry Potter, the ultimate downfall of the Dark Lord, and a very decent, if sometimes headstrong, human being!" Agnes was taken aback by my vehemence and said nothing. "You're looking for things to fret about for reasons I and the leading psycho-analysts can only guess at. But I want you to leave me out of it!"

"Zed-"

"And one more thing, Agnes," I said, attempting to speak lightly, "The next time you see me sitting by myself, do me a favor and leave it that way."

Her expression softened and she opened her mouth to speak. "Zed, look, I didn't mean-"

"Hey everyone, look who's here!" a voice called from the Great Hall's entrance. Agnes and I wheeled around and saw Albus standing in the doorway next to a very pale but smiling Rose Weasely.

The entire Gryfindor table erupted in applause and James sprinted over to her and enveloped her in a warm hug. Agnes seemed to think the whole hugging business was a great idea because she squealed with delight and ran over to Rose to do likewise. (I dunno. For my part, if I had just recovered from a severe injury to the stomach the last thing I'd want is to be squeezed. (Come to think of it, I'm generally apposed to hugging even without injuries.) But you must bear in mind that Agnes is not a very considerate person, so this fact wouldn't occur to her.)

Positively beaming, the two brothers escorted their cousin to the Gryfindor table where she was welcomed back enthusiastically by her whole House. I am told the whole scene was very moving. I continued to stir my cereal.

"I can't believe how far behind I've fallen." Rose moaned as she, Albus and I made our way to double potions. "I mean, I've only managed to stay up to scratch on the hover charms but I did a real shoddy job on that transfiguration essay and I completely forgot about that Remembering Charm. How did it go, again? Obliviate or Invigobrate or something.

I'll tell you, it's so hard to keep up with your homework when you've been placed in an induced coma for days on end, but I think a few late nights and your notes will set me straight. You _have_ been keeping notes, haven't you?"

Rose paused her monologue (ostensibly to take a breath) and graced Albus with a teasingly severe look. He grinned sheepishly back at her. "Er, you know, it's so wonderful you're back," he said.

"I'll take that as a 'no', then," Rose said, with a sigh. "Oh well, I'm sure Flavious Flannel has been keeping notes. He's supposed to be really smart. I'll just ask him. You say something, Ted?"

"It's Zed!" I burst out. "Zed! Why can't anyone remember that? It's only three letters, one syllable and the very last letter of the alphabet!"

"Zed, calm down," Albus said. "She was just joking with you."

I looked at the flame-haired girl and found that she was indeed grinning impishly at me. "Bit touchy today, aren't we?" she noted. "Something bothering you?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing. It's just my cereal didn't agree with me."

"That's no reason to fly off the handle at her-" Albus broke off in mid-sentence as a group of fifth years rounded the corner. They were the same group of Slytherins who had 'welcomed' Albus his first night at Hogwarts, led by a swaggering Avery Helix. I saw Albus lock eyes with each and every one of them and felt him tense for a confrontation. (At this point I began to unobtrusively hang back. (I had to tie my shoe, honest!))

Suddenly the group of fifth years split gracefully down the center and the whole lot of them parted, bringing their backs smartly against the walls. A wide partition formed from the flanking Slytherins, all of whom were gazing respectfully down at Albus. Albus, for his part looked dumbfounded but not nearly as much as much as Avery Helix. The fifth-year whirled his head back and forth in absolute shock and he sputtered with dismay. His mates completely ignored him and only continued to level their eyes at Albus in the same serenely patient yet expectant way.

"You are all fools," Avery snarled. He looked at Albus and his face flooded with unmistakable hatred. He hitched his backpack back onto his shoulder and stomped on past, making sure to slam his shoulder into Albus as he did.

A slight feral growl issued from one of the Slytherins but otherwise they all remained stock-still.

Rose squeezed nervously closer to her cousin and grasped his arm tightly. "Albus?" she asked in a low, quavering voice, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Rose," he answered in hushed tones, "only we're going to be late for potions. C'mon." And the two of them scurried on hurriedly past the flanking Slytherins, all of whose eyes followed them silently as they made their way through. And by the time I had set my foot forward to follow, the flanking lines had dissolved into a mass of chattering fifth years, smiling and joking as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The acrid smell of burning sulfur greeted us on our arrival to the potions room. (A smell that had less to do with vaporous deadly fumes issuing from the bubbling class assignments then with a ... certain predisposition of our reptilian Potions Master.) Professor Khan unfurled his great bat-wings in surprise when we entered.

"Ms. Weasley," he exclaimed in what sounded almost like a purr. "I am most pleased to see you are well enough to join us,"

"Me too, professor," Rose replied, turning red at all the attention directed at her.

"I trust the last experience has not put you off from flying. Statistically speaking, it still is the safest way to travel. In any event, please find your seats. I'm sure you are eager to catch up on any material you have missed.

"Let us proceed with our review. Who can provide me with another name for the plant 'aconite'? Er, yes then?"

Rose's hand had flew into the air along with Flavious Flannel's. Professor Kahn, slightly amused, nodded at Rose.

"It goes by the name monkshood. Also wolfsbane."

"Excellent," Professor Kahn said as Flavious lowered his hand in disappointment. "Ten points to Gryffindor, but then, you provided two names, didn't you? Make that twenty points."

I, of course, knew the answers to such basic elementary questions, but refrained from showing off. (As I'm sure you have all noticed, I have an aversion to showing off or talking about my greatness to any degree. Truly, my humility knows no bounds.)

"Now then, who can tell me where I would find a bezoar- I am in middle of a lesson now, Ms. Clappsaddle, and cannot answer any more of your many, many questions."

We all turned and saw that a witch had sidled into the dungeon. She was smartly dressed and wore a thick strand of pearls along with a very patronizing smile. "No need to worry," she gushed through a thick set of pearly white teeth. "Carry on with your lesson, Professor."

Professor Kahn grunted, emitting a short burst of flame from his nostrils. "Very well, then," he sniffed. "Now who can tell me where I would find a bezoar-"

"I was, however, wondering," Ms. Clappsaddle said, her smile widening, "if I could borrow one of your students for a while."

"Were you, now?"

"Yes, I was. Just for a tiny little while. A young man named Silvanus Zed."

"Who?"

"You know, the pale boy with the overly large nose-"

"Ah, indeed. I know of whom you speak."

At that moment all eyes focused upon me. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach and I knew, without understanding why, that I did not want to go with that woman. The witch had noticed me slouching behind my bubbling cauldron and she bent lower and addressed me in a very high-pitched sing-song voice. "Oh my, you must be Zeddy then, aren't you? Or do you prefer Silvy?"

I couldn't bring myself to speak. (But I strongly considered drowning myself in my cauldron.)

"Come along, now. We'll going to spend some quality time together. Doesn't that just sound like oodles of fun?" She smiled expectantly, as though she were offering a sack full of candy.

"What are you waiting for then, Ned?" Professor Kahn growled. "Off with you. Chop chop."

I slowly stood up and left the class in the wake of Ms. Clappsaddle, overhearing someone giggle the word 'Silvy' as I left.

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><p>Thank you Aria for your comment. I can hardly believe you've been following this story from the very beginning.<p> 


	21. Chapter 21 Mrs Clappsaddle

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MRS. CLAPPSADDLE

You really must believe me; I was not nervous. Not even a tiny bit. Not even a little drop. What would I have to be nervous about? Nothing. That's what. After all, I was a veritable saint. An angel incarnate. A gleaming example of profound virtuosity and righteousness. (To all the ladies reading this, please do not get the wrong impression. I was also quite the 'bad boy', if you know what I mean. (Wink wink)). I had done absolutely nothing wrong and had nothing to feel guilty about. My record was completely spotless. (Unless you counted that 'Noodle Incident' of which I was fully acquitted of all charges.)

But still, as I followed that lady named Mrs. Clappsaddle down the corridor I found that my hands were shaking and I was having a hard time breathing in enough air. (Which is very odd because I am usually very good at breathing.)

"Ooohh, someone's in trouble," an ecstatic old crone crooned from her painting. "Beat him good, ma'am, that's a good lass. It's the only way these young hooligans learn anything."

Mrs. Clappsaddle simply strolled forward as though she hadn't heard anything while I made a mental note to return later that night and graffiti that painting. (Calling me a 'hooligan'. The nerve!")

"Er, Mrs. Clappsaddle," I ventured slowly, "That portrait isn't a qualified educator and any advice received therefrom should be treated with the utmost suspici-"

"Oh don't worry, dearie," Mrs. Clappsaddle said, flashing me a toothy smile. "There won't be any beatings. I just want to talk is all. Just a talk. We're going to have a nice looong conversation you and I. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

At that moment, I couldn't be sure I didn't prefer the beating and so kept quiet.

Eventually she stopped outside a heavy oak door, unlocked it and entered, beckoning me to do likewise.

Some would say that the room was heavily decorated with impressionist art but I maintain that someone must have drunk several gallons of paint and then violently threw up on all the walls. It was the type of color-mixtures that one could not look away from and that brought on seizures.

Mrs. Clappsaddle noticed I was staring at the paint splotches and completely misinterpreted my expression. "Ah, admiring my collection, are you Zeddy? You have a good eye, my boy. A very good eye."

"Huh?"

"You obviously have a very discerning nature, Zeddy. Like me, you can see into the depths of an object, past its corrosive exterior and are able bring out the beauty within. Its truth and essence which other shallow individuals scorn and ignore. It's gestalt properties, if you will."

"What?"

"But that's enough discussion about art and culture. Won't you have a seat?" She shook her stubby wand and conjured up a plush couch and indicated it was for me. For herself she magicked up a sturdy chair. sat down tentatively. "You might feel more comfortable if you laid down on your back," she suggested.

"Er," I said, "what is all this about again?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle simpered. "I told you, Silvy, I want to talk. I'm sure you have sooo much to say and we'll have soooo many interesting conversations-"

"I don't mean to be rude," (I'm a very good liar,) "but who are you exactly? I mean, are you a teacher or professor of some sort?"

She hesitated for a moment, though her benign overly wide smile never faltered. "...No," she said at length. "No I am not a teacher. I do not not work for Hogwarts."

"You don't?"

"No, Silvy. But let's talk about you for a bit. Have you read any good books lately?"

"Of course not, I live in a school. But wait, if you're not a Hogwarts employee why are you here?"

"You don't have to worry, dearie," she said, soothingly. "I won't be assigning you any more homework."

"But-"

"The Ministry has simply sent me over to... to get to know all you wonderful little children."

"The Ministry sent you? To get to know us?"

"That's right. To get to know you. To find out how you're feeling. To find out what's going on in those adorable wittle bitty heads of yours."

She pinched the tip of my nose in an affectation of playful affection. Instinctively, I pulled away and milled over what she had said in my 'wittle bitty head'. "'Find out how we're feeling'... Wait! Wait just a bloody minute! Are you a head-shrinker?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle sniffed. "Actually, I prefer 'Guidance Counselor'."

"No!" I protested, leaping to my feet. "You're a ruddy analyst! I am so sick and tired of you crazy, supposed 'doctors'. How many times do I have to tell you people? I'm normal! I'm completely sane! I'm well adjusted! I don't need my head shrunk. I like my overly large head just as it is, thank you very much. What is this about? Who sent you? Is this about the Noodle Incident? It is, isn't it? It wasn't my fault, I tell you! It was a frame up! I'm an innocent stooge! A Patsy! I was completely exonerated of all charges and twenty people placed me in Uganda at the time. And another forty saw me in Sydney! You won't find anything wrong with me! It's everybody else who's crazy. Go on and look around. Their all nuts. Certifiable. I've got rights, by golly, and I'll... I'll... er...

"What, er, what are you doing?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle had produced a notebook and quill and was scribbling away with enthused gusto. "Please, go on," she waved her quill encouragingly. "This is all fascinating. Very illuminating."

"It is?" I leaned over to see what she had written but she deftly moved the parchment out of view. "What's fascinating? What's illuminating? Why have you singled _me_ out? Me! Silvanus Zed! The most well adjusted, self-actualized-"

"Now, dearie," Mrs. Clappsaddle removed her glasses and looked at me sideways with a tired smile. "This isn't personal and you haven't been singled out. I've already had sessions with several of the students, some of your friends, now I think of it."

I thought about this for a moment. "That's true..." I said.

"Of course it's true," the analyst quickly warmed to the subject. "We've had sessions with your friend Agnes Murehead,"

"Not my friend,"

"And that extremely brilliant boy, Flavious Flannel,"

"Brains of a troll. I can't understand why everyone says he's smart."

"And cute, round Damon Devon, or as you know him as 'Windy'. Incidentally, we conducted that session outside on the grounds."

I was slowly nodding my head when something occurred to me. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. "Hold on. You've only interviewed first year students. You've been focusing exclusively on the youngest students."

"That isn't true, dear,"

"But it is true-"

"No, dear, you're mistaken."

"But why would the Ministry only be interested in analyzing the first year students?" I posed the question more to myself than Mrs. Clappsaddle as I rubbed my chin thoughtfully.

"Lets get back to you, Zeddy," Mrs. Clappsaddle said through a stiff, plastered smile. She had adopted a curt, clinical tone and she held up her quill and notebook at the ready. "Would you say your neurosis stems from pathological megalomania or a straight up obsessive compulsion rooted in deeply constrained feelings of resentment to your mother?"

"The Ministry wants the first years analyzed for some reason," I mused to myself, ignoring the analyst as my train of thought sped away. "Are they looking for something? 'Someone' is more likely since their checking into everyone..."

"You seem to express symptoms of paranoia delusions and conspiracy complexes," she butt in loudly, sounding decidedly annoyed. "Is it possible you were splinched as a child? Or maybe you suffer from 'Big Wand Envy'?"

"Is there something the Ministry wants? Or maybe it's something their afraid of. Maybe the Ministry is afraid of something, or someone, and is looking to-"

"Sil-van-us Zed," Mrs. Clappsaddle spoke my name slowly, rounding out each syllable and rolling it over her tongue like it was a delectable desert. "That is a wonderful name. 'Silvanus Zed', very melodic. However did you get such a wonderful name?"

I shot bolt upright and looked at her disbelievingly. "You, er, want to know... about my name?"

"Yes, dearie," she nodded animatedly. "It's so unusual. So dramatic. However did you come by it?"

I harrumphed loudly and puffed out my chest. "That, Madame Clappsaddle, is a very interesting story. You see, I was named after my great, great-"

"That _is _very interesting," the witch cut in, scribbling once again into her notebook. I noticed that the change in subject had calmed her and left her less agitated. "Tell me, how are you enjoying your classes?"

"I hate Tranfiguration the least."

"Mhmm, and have you made any friends?"

"Not really. Everyone here is a world class, booger-brained troglodyte. But getting back to my name; I happened to be named after my the most interesting person to ever blow up a-"

"That's nice dearie," the troglodyte with the pearls said. "But surely you have made at least one friend. I'm sure you can think on one. Let's go through the alphabet and start with the letter 'A'. Are you friends with anyone who's name begins with 'A'?"

"Um, well,"

"Or 'A' and 'L'. Are you friends with anyone whose name begins with an 'A' and 'L'?"

"Albus, I guess," I shrugged. "And I guess I'm okay with his cousin, Rose Weasely. Sweet girl, really. But for some reason they have to hang around this witch of a girl named Agnes Murehead, and let me tell, she is quite a head-case. And I would know-"

"Of course you would, dearie. Tell me, is Albus happy here at Hogwarts? Is he comfortable with his classes?"

"What? Oh, um, uh, I guess so. But anyways, you'll never believe this Murehead character. Do you know what she said to me only just this morning at breakfast? She said that I'm-"

"Interested in the Dark Arts?"

I stiffened and felt the blood rush from my face. "Beg pardon?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle eyed me from over her notes. "Albus. Has Albus ever expressed any interest in the Dark Arts?"

"Of... of course not- No, of course he hasn't. Doesn't!" I stammered, completely blind sighted. "So... at breakfast... I... she... that is-"

"Has Albus ever shown any extraordinary talents? Ever done anything unusual, even for a wizard?"

Immediately scenes and images flashed through my head. The Slytherin Common Room illuminated by a flash of green light and Avery and his fellow fifth years being blasted backwards. The Hospital Wing with the same emerald glow and a dozen broken Death Eaters scattered about in crumpled heaps. And Albus standing in the middle of it all. Albus, in all his awesome fury, vengeful power pulsing off him and shivering through my body, vibrating the very air.

My recollections must have shown in my expression because the analyst's eyes widened with excitement and she leaned forward. "It's okay, Zeddy," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone, stowing her notebook. "You can tell me. It will be our own little secret." She winked and waited expectantly.

I composed myself and controlled my breathing. "Is this whole thing mandatory?" I asked, eyeing the door. "I mean, will I get in trouble if I leave?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle's expectant smiled smoothly turned into a plastered facsimile even though it never faltered. "You aren't being marked for these sessions, dearie. You can leave whenever you want."

I immediately jumped to my feet. "Great. Alright then, I suppose I'll be heading to lunch, in that case." At that moment I wanted nothing more than to be away from that horribly painted room and that woman with the plastered on smile.

But as I turned the nob and opened the door I found myself pausing. "Mrs. Clappsaddle?" I said, remembering something that had occurred at breakfast. She cocked her head inquiringly. "Would you say... it is true that I'm a loser?"

"Oh, dearie," she said, smiling warmly and flicking her wand. "Of course you are,"

And the door swung close in my face.

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><p>I know I stole a reference from 'Calvin and Hobbes' but let's consider it an homage, what?<p> 


	22. Chapter 22 Bubble and Trouble

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

**BUBBLE AND TROUBLE**

It is very difficult to be so ahead of one's time. They say genius is never understood in its own generation and in my case no one will understand my greatness for at least a decade, (if not a century.) Honestly, that is the only explanation I can think of. I know that I should evoke shameless adulation from you ignorant masses (and use that term in the nicest possible way) by the sheer power of my charm, whit and masterfulness.

Oddly enough, however, the most common phrase I tend to run into is, 'piss off'.

As I said: It is difficult to be so ahead of one's time. We geniuses lead a hard life.

* * *

><p>By the time I got out of my meeting with Mrs Clappsaddle, potions lessons had already finished. Students scuttled in the hallways making their way to their next class as slowly as their feet could drag them. I hitched up my knapsack and started off for the west wing, careful to avoid the grasping hands of a hanging skeleton. (The Halloween decorations were especially aggressive that year.)<p>

I turned a corner and saw Agnes in the distance, her curly blond head turning every which way obviously searching for someone. (Poor thing was probably lost. It's a wonder she was able to find her front pockets as often as she did. (Oohh, burn!)) For no particular reason I decided to make an abrupt about-face and march off in another direction. There were many routes to any particular place within the Hogwarts castle, many of them blissfully Agnes-free.

As I walked I muddled over the weird interview I had just sat through. I was not surprised to find out that Mrs. Clappsaddle was a therapist; she was looney enough to fit the profile. But she seemed inordinately interested in Albus. And what were all those strange questions about him being involved in the Dark Arts? The very idea was crazy! And then she let it slip that she was sent by the Ministry. Was the Ministry checking up on Albus? For what purpose? The whole thing was very strange.

And furthermore: I don't think she was really interested in the origin of my name at all. Otherwise she wouldn't have rudely interrupted me when I was about to tell her that I was actually named after my great-

"ZED, DON'T DO IT!"

The command startled me out of my reverie. I looked around to see where it had come from and saw Rose running towards me at full speed, her flaming hair bobbing with her movements and her cheeks flushed from exertion.

"Uh, hi, Rose. What's going on-"

"Zed, don't do it!" she repeated, grabbing me tightly by the shoulders. Her face was stone serious and her grip was tense. "I know you think it's the right thing to do, but it isn't worth it. The three of you could get into serious trouble. You might even be horribly injured or worse- EXPELLED!"

I'll admit it, since it doesn't happen very often, I was thoroughly confused. The poor lass was apparently utterly delusional and babbling incoherently. Obviously, she had not fully recovered from her injuries. It was a real shame. It meant that Albus would go back to his insufferable moping.

Rose shook my shoulders and spoke with a voice like firm iron. "Zed, tell me you're not going to do it!"

"Alright then," I coughed uncomfortably. "Er, do what?"

Rose blinked in astonishment. "You mean- you... that is... you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Rose's face softened with relief and she smiled wanly. "Oh, it's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Say, it looks like you'll be late for class. You'd better hurry along."

"Now, just hold on one doggone minute," I protested as she began scooting me on my way. (I was slowly getting the feeling that I had been left out of a loop.) "What was all that about? What did you think-"

"I told you, it was nothing!" Rose insisted, turning slightly red. "Just pretend I never said anything."

"I always do. But I still want to know-"

"Zed! Zed!" For the second time that morning I heard a girl calling out my name. (This is probably what it feels like to have groupies.) This time it was Agnes. She had noticed me from down the hall and was on her way over, waiving her hand to get my attention.

Rose became suddenly more agitated upon seeing Agnes. "Zed, I should be on my way if I were you. Whatever she has to say to you it can wait till later." She started shepherding me in the other direction but I resisted.

Ironically, under normal circumstances I would have avoided that annoying blonde girl on my own, but Rose' odd behavior had piqued my curiosity.

"Zed, there you are!" Agnes said when she reached us. Rose crossed her arms and huffed. "I've been looking all over for you. It's like you're avoiding me."

"Imagine that," I said, rather cooly. "What do you want?"

"It's Albus, actually. He wants you to join him in the girl's lavatory."

"... I beg your pardon?"

"Right now. He's in the girl's lavatory on the third floor and he's waiting for you."

I coughed rather uncomfortably. "Aha, right. Yes, well, I'm sure it must have been _quite_ an emergency if he had no choice but to dash into the girl's loo, but I don't think, ah, that I would be much help in this circumstance. Perhaps if he tried a strong laxative..."

Agnes snorted derisively. "It's nothing to do with _that_," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can't explain it here and now. Look, just come along. We're waiting for you." And with that she turned around and marched off. I watched her go for a moment and then I met Rose' eyes. She shook her head firmly.

But I decided not to heed her advice. I took off after Agnes with Rose following in my wake, her arms still crossed and her mouth muttering sweet nothings of disapproval.

* * *

><p>I've always said that bathrooms are the great equalizer. No matter how great or lowly you are you will only leave a smelly mess when you're done. (You can find this and other great aphorisms in my upcoming book, 'Sylvanus Said So'. (Six ninety-nine, shipping not included.)) But when I walked into that girl's bathroom I was immediately struck by its immaculate cleanliness. And then I remembered that this was the loo that everyone avoided.<p>

Apparently, back in the day it had been haunted by a particularly annoying ghost. The faculty had exorcized her from the vicinity several years ago following the Great Lavatory Shortage of '09 when Peeves the poltergeist had added some 'special ingredients' to the school lunch. There was a sudden and major run on all the toilets and chamber pots in the castle and every stall had to be made available at a moments notice. I understand the chaos was epic.

But this bathroom retained its morbid reputation and, perhaps due to the strain of tradition, students still avoided it like an outhouse.

Soft white wisps of steam rose gently from the far stall and Agnes Rose and I made a bee-line for it. Agnes swung the door open to reveal Albus hunched over a mini-cauldron that bubbled with excited abandon. He looked up at us as we entered and grinned. "It's about time you got here," he said, wiping his brow. "My arm is dead tired from stirring this goo."

"I couldn't find him right away," Agnes said, settling down and relieving him of his stirrer. "But he's here now so we can get on with it."

"Get on with it?" I sputtered. "Get on with what? What are you guys up to?"

"No good is what their up to," Rose said harshly from where she stood, over by the sinks. "This is a terrible idea and no good will come of it. If you have to do it and get yourselves expelled you may as well do it yourselves and leave poor, dear Jed out of it."

"That's 'Zed',"

"Whatever. The point is: I won't let you go through with this. It's way too dangerous! If you continue I'll... I'll..."

"You'll tell on us?" Agnes asked, sounding unsure.

"No!" Rose flushed. "If I did you would _definitely_ get expelled."

"Rose," Albus said, looking at his cousin seriously, "we're doing this for you."

"Stop it!" Rose groaned. "That just makes it even worse. It means I'm to blame for all this mess."

"That is not true!" Albus snapped, sounding angry. "You did nothing wrong. You were badly hurt and almost killed. It's Damon Devon and Allison Smythe who are to blame for everything."

"Hold on," I said, injecting a modicum of sanity into the discussion. "Is this about those spiders that those two stooges put in your sheets, Albus?"

"The Transylvanian Blood Spider is no ordinary spider, Zed, as you well know," Albus said. "According to your book it's used to get the blood of people that are targeted for Dark Magic."

I noticed Agnes cringe at the mention of my book but she said nothing and merely stirred the bubbling cauldron all the harder. "And they went and targeted Rose." I felt a darkness leak into Albus' words as he spoke that last sentence and I shuddered.

Rose stamped her foot in exasperation. "But I'm fine, Albus. There's no harm done. Whatever their plan was it didn't work."

"It was a very near thing."

"But it's over now. Let's just walk away before someone _does_ get hurt. Agnes, you talk some sense into him! He's being pig-headed."

Agnes made a slight shrug with a small apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Rose, but I'm with Albus on this one. Someone tried to hurt you and we need to get to the bottom of it."

"So you're going to talk to Damon and Allison," I ventured. Albus and Agnes nodded in unison. "And before you go and talk to them you decided to cook up some soup in a lavatory? Feeling a little peckish?"

"We can't just go and talk to them," Albus said, "we need to seem more intimidating than just a couple of eleven-year-olds."

"But you _are_ a couple of eleven-year-olds," I pointed out.

Albus smiled and his teeth glistened in the pale of light of the flame beneath the cauldron. "Not for long," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean? You'll still have to wait an entire year to be twelve. And even then, twelve year old kid isn't that much scarier than an eleven year old kid. Unless, of course, you have some irrational fear of eleven year old kids. It's not very common but I've heard of some cases. My great uncle Bernie, for instance, would break out in-"

"We're cooking up some polyjuice potion," Agnes cut in.

My eyebrows flew into my hairline. "Really?" I said, incredulously. "That sounds hard to believe. It's an incredibly advanced potion and I kind of get the feeling you'd have trouble brewing up a decent pot of tea. Not you, Albus. Your tea is delightful."

"We thought Rose could manage it," Albus said, "seeing as how she's already memorized Basic Potions and has skimmed most of next years material."

"Ah," I said, nodding with comprehension.

"Except that she's refused point-blank to help us," Albus said, glaring at his cousin who sniffed with supreme unconcern.

"If I can't stop you then I at least won't help you," she said.

"And that's where you come in, Zed," Albus sighed. "It's up to you now."

"What? You want me to try and convince her? I dunno, she looks really determined to me."

"No, you idiot. I want you to try and make the potion!"

"Really? Why didn't you just say so!" I sat down by the cauldron, grabbed the potions book and began excitedly flipping through the pages. I was nearly ecstatic. At last, my vast talents were being recognized and put to good use.

"Zed, come on!" Rose said, looking genuinely worried. "That is a very difficult and dangerous potion. You might end up poisoning them."

"I will not poison them!" I shot back, hotly. "... Probably."

"You know, you could just do it yourself," Agnes suggested. But Rose just scowled and stiffened up completely.

In the meantime, a strong sense of unease had begun developing in the pit of my stomach. Rose wasn't wrong about the potion. It looked like it was sadistically convoluted. And the artistic renderings that accompanied the instructions were positively gross. And then I hit upon a line that completely sank my hopes.

"Bad news, guys," I said, sounding very deflated. "According to this, the potion has to simmer for at least a month."

"WHAT?" Albus barked. "Are you sure? Let me see that!"

"It's right there," I said, handing him the book and pointing out the paragraph. "Black on white and plain as day."

Agnes peered over Albus' shoulder at the dreaded paragraph and slumped with disappointment. "I suppose that's it then."

I saw Rose give off a little smug smirk. I decided then that I would not be beaten. I racked my brain for an answer to the problem. My mind went into overdrive and the world disappeared around me like an annoying vaporous cloud. The problem presented itself before me and circled around it; examining it from all angles in search for any weakness. I paced about within my mind until I hit upon something. The problem developed a crack that I exploited. I chipped away with enthusiasm until the problem melted away and I was left with the answer.

"... Zed? Are you all right? You look a little spaced out."

I returned back to the present and the world reformed around me. "Quick!" I said, "did you guys bring the potion ingredients?"

"Of course," Agnes said, holding a large pouch. "We lifted it from the potions cabinet during the last lesson."

"Give it here then!" I yanked the pouch from her grasp and began rummaging through it. I quickly found the ingredients I needed for a pollyjucie potion and set right to work. I started slicing, dicing and stirring like a madman. I labored furiously with the result that at the end of an hour I was sweating profusely and a half-finished potion was bubbling merrily before me.

"Very nice," Rose said, who had been looking on with keen interest. "It's not too shabby. But you have to let it sit now. For a month!"

"I don't think so," I said, feeling my chest swell with pride. And I fished one more ingredient out of the pouch. It was a small, delicate bottle filled with a light liquid.

Rose read aloud the label. "'Essence of Dittany'?"

"That's right," I said, shaking the bottle and opening it with a satisfied flourish. "This substance is known to age things, like wounds. It should speed up the whole process."

"Will it really?" Agnes asked, excitedly.

"No it won't!" Rose said, sounding furious. "Zed, that's very clever, but I'm sure someone must have thought of that already and tried it and there's probably a very good reason it isn't done."

"Hogwash," I said. "I guarantee you I'm the first one to have thought of this."

"Zed-"

But before she could utter another word, I tipped the bottle into the cauldron. The concoction began to sizzle and hiss violently. Billows of green and orange smoke poured out and sparks spat out in all directions. The entire potion felt like it was very angry but then it suddenly calmed and and hardened. The sparks fizzled away and the smoke cleared and we all looked down into a sludgy purplish substance. Exactly the way it was supposed to look... one month from now.

Albus clapped me heartily on the back. "Zed, you're a genius!"

"I know,"

"So all we have to do now is drink that?"

"No," I said, referring to the book. "It says here you have to put in something from the person you want to change into."

"Got it," Agnes said, holding up a small zip-lock bag with several jet-black hairs in it. She dropped the fluttering hairs into the cauldron and the potion immediately turned into what looked to be a greasy petrol.

"Who exactly are you turning into?" I asked.

"Ursula Qualm, the prefect," Albus said, scooping out a cup-full of the stuff. "If she isn't intimidating and scary I don't know who is." He held up the cup in the fashion of a toast. "Cheers,"

"ALBUS, NO!" Rose lunged across the cauldron and swatted the cup from her cousin's hand. It flew across the lavatory but it was already empty. It was too late. Albus had drunk it.

The next second Albus fell to the floor and began to convulse violently. His teeth were gritted and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His bones began to distort into odd shapes and his skin began melting like a candle. Thick spiky hairs popped up from all parts of his body and he continued to change.

Rose screamed while Agnes and I looked on with eyes wide with horror at what we had done.

* * *

><p>I know I've been gone for a while. Been working on a completely original project. Gonna be epic. Anyways, getting back into Albus now.<p> 


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